When the spoiled tin was opened
by AUaddict
Summary: Starts in the summer between CoS and PoA. The incident with Marge Dursley was more serious than in canon and Harry is caught by the Aurors. But is his situation as bad as it looks? Meanwhile, some of the most important people lose any illusions about the British wizarding world being fair and just. There is also an ICW meeting coming, so the ugliest truths must be quickly hidden.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything that you recognize, only my OCs.**

**A/N: Welcome, and I hope you will enjoy this story. I'm not a native English speaker, so if you see any strange formulations, feel free to send me a message and I'll correct it.**

**Prologue, or how it all began**

_Many may argue, that this story really began in 1993 or 1994, but I assure you that they are incorrect. It is true __that many, if not even a vast majority of the most important twists and turns happened during those two years, but one day in 1945 and another day in 1946 two things happened, without which the uproar of the mid-nineties would not come to pass. Everything begins with a young man named Tom Marvolo Riddle – but I believe it would be better to show you rather than simply tell you. _

**End of June 1945**

Tom Riddle watched his classmates melancholically reminisce about last seven years and he had to keep himself from rolling his eyes. Yes, there were some good times, such as the search, finding and opening of the Chamber of secrets and studying of ancient spells and rituals (some of which were far behind the line between neutral and malicious), but there was also much annoyance and things which had often made him angry.

His train of thought was interrupted when somebody touched his shoulder. He turned and saw one of his former classmates, a Ravenclaw named Andrew Wood. Tom had absolutely no inclination to chat and he made it perfectly clear by his behaviour.

"Yes?" he asked Wood curtly.

The Ravenclaw, who was about to start an eager talk about a planned celebration of a successful graduation without the danger of Dumbledore or professor Merrythought interrupting it and spoiling the fun began much less surely:

"Well, there is a party planned-"here he was interrupted.

"And everyone who comes will get nauseous from food and drink and they will all end up rolling in their vomit, including you. Thanks for the invitation," Tom sneered.

Wood sneered back, turned on his heel and returned to his large group of friends where he recounted what happened in great detail. Tom saw two of them, in particular a Hufflepuff named Alastor Moody and a former Gryffindor prefect Minerva McGonnagal make remarks which looked suspiciously like "I told you so" and "What else did you expect?"

He quietly growled. There were many times he wanted to curse them and also many times when he truly did it. Moody was a perpetual annoyance with his tendency to watch Tom's every move and badgering others to do the same. McGonnagal was just as bad when it came to the "guard duty" and worse, she was always trying to acquaint muggleborn and muggle-raised half-bloods with liberal purebloods and wizard-raised half-bloods, or convince those more conservative to "live and let live".

Tom gave his former classmates a baleful glare and apparated to Knockturn alley where he had arranged to rent a room. He had also planned a celebration of his own, much better than the one his classmates planned. He was finally free of the watchful eyes of the teachers at school and of Mrs. Cole at the orphanage. That fact would surely be better celebrated in private with Livia Rosier, one of his housemate's sister, who was just two years older than him. They were introduced the Yule before last, when the Rosiers invited Tom to stay for the holiday. They both showed the world a façade of a very proper, well behaved individual, but in reality they were anything but. Livia always played a shy, submissive girl, but in reality… well, in reality she was not above making him a proposition and he was not above accepting it. After he did so, he had ample opportunity to see that she was not scared of any perversity he came up with.

Ending his musings, Tom checked the time and looked out of the dusty window. Yes, there she was, out to "look for new robes". He smiled with anticipation. A few moments later she was knocking on his door and entering the room. They did not waste time. When their meeting came to an end, Tom was pleasantly fatigued and content, even more than was usual after a meeting with her, but Livia left the room nervous and perhaps even scared and never returned.

**March 1946, somewhere in London**

It was nearing midnight and nobody had heard or seen as a middle aged woman appeared in a park in an upper middle class neighbourhood. She carried a swaddled bundle in her arms and immediately started looking around for any curious eyes. Finding none, she exited the park and headed straight for one of the houses. She placed the bundle, which was now beginning to wiggle, on the doorstep and rang the doorbell. Then she disillusioned herself and waited.

After just a few moments there could be seen light turned on and a figure approached the front door, looking strangely deformed by the decorative glass. When the door finally opened, a man in his mid-thirties came out. He was very shocked when he saw what was left at his doorstep and angry at whoever left the child there, but he took the little one inside and closed the door on the chilly night. He thanked God that he and his wife already had a child of their own and therefore knew well what to do with the baby. He was going to wake up his wife and discuss finding the child (which he later found out was a boy) a home.

Outside in the street Mrs. Rosier nodded to herself. Giving her daughter's bastard child to the muggles was the best thing to do. It was true that when he re-entered the wizarding world in eleven years, somebody could notice a resemblance to Livia, but she would sort that out when it happened. For now, she had ensured a long time of peace for her family.

_In the end, Mrs. Rosier didn't have to worry. Mr. McAdams, the man who found the baby on the doorstep, and later agreed with his wife that they would adopt it, got an offer from the company he was employed in to work for its American branch, which he accepted. Patrick McAdams, Livia's child eventually did come to Britain, but by that time the last member of the Rosier family, Mrs. Rosiers' grandson Evan, had been dead and buried for twelve years._

**Chapter 1**

**Summer of 1993, Alastor Moody's home**

Alastor Moody was deep in thought. The reason for his brooding was a roll of parchment which he got from Nymphadora Tonks, an Auror trainee. Apparently, when she heard him complaining for the umpteenth time about Crouch Sr. getting scolded for allowing lethal spells during his time as the Head of the DMLE, the "no lethal spells policy" and other problems and restrictions the Aurors and even whole DMLE struggled with, and how in his youth the minister and the Wizengamot trusted the Aurors to use their brain and the trainees truly had brain, she got curious and managed to find out where the aggravating policy came from and also what were the trainees taught fifty years ago. She ranted and raved, and it was her rant that started his current train of thought…

_They were sitting in the Ministry cafeteria, a privacy bubble around them._

_ "I can't believe it. Scratch that, I can. Of course it were Cygnus Black and Abraxas Malfoy who came with it. What a way to make sure that their school friends and later dear Uncle Lucy and Auntie Bella and perhaps Auntie Cissy would get away from any sticky situation. _

_ That spell is not necessary, this one has too bloody results, blah blah blah. What are we going to use on the criminals five years from now, tickling jinx and leg locker curse? And don't get me started on the Wizengamot. I'm not surprised that Parkinson, Nott and their friends supported it, but why the hell didn't Dumbledore and company try harder to convince Greengrass and the other fence-sitters to support their side? Do they want criminals strutting around as if they owned the world? As for the fence-sitters, when their kids start to behave like idiots, do they make sure that the Aurors won't get them when they grow up instead of punishing them for the idiocy?"_

_ Here Tonks stopped ranting, let out a frustrated sigh and continued in a normal tone: "Well, here is the list of the restrictions. There are also some "interesting" rules and laws mentioned. Funny that they started to appear mid-sixties, continued through the seventies, then became less frequent after 1981, but never really stopped." Tonks' words practically dripped sarcasm._

_ Moody thought for a moment and then answered: "I'm not surprised that Malfoy, Black and their cronies would press for those rules to be issued or that they were passed. When somebody finally noticed what they were trying to do, things were in hell for a long time. Any strong protest and you were as good as dead."_

_ Tonks frowned. "I can't believe that somebody like Augusta Longbottom, Crouch or Dumbledore didn't notice in time and still don't see it. None of them is stupid or blind."_

As he sat in his study and swirled around some firewhiskey in a glass, Moody thought that Tonks had a good point. He went to school with Augusta Longbottom and some other members of the light and neutral factions of the Wizengamot, and many of them had a good head on their shoulders. Yet, the light side almost lost the war and they were saved by what was in his opinion a stroke of luck. He started to reminisce about the time and about actions of the people involved. The conclusion he came up with gave him a very unpleasant feeling.

**Summer of 1993, Azkaban prison**

After twelve years, the mind of one Sirius Black was finally clear again. Before, he had been struggling to stay sane and desperately tried to fend off the thoughts and memories the dementors' presence caused to appear. Now, there was something he had to do and he had to do it right. Peter, the traitor, was dangerously near Harry. Also, if there was some truth in Bella's ravings, Malfoy, Avery and some others walked away free after the end of the war. Sirius just couldn't see Lucius Malfoy sitting at home poring over bank statements in the morning, flying over the countryside in the afternoon and enjoying sex, firewhiskey and classical music in the evening. He would bet a week's worth of the grey sludge he had to eat that the former Death Eaters were not idle and if there was an opportunity for some mischief, they would gladly take it.

Sirius was getting more and more determined to get out of Azkaban. One thing that had kept him sane over the years, the knowledge that he was innocent, was joined by other thoughts. A dangerous man was near Harry. Other dangerous men were walking free in the world, his godson was bound to meet them some time and nobody had prepared him for such meetings. Sirius had to get out and soon.

Sometime later a dementor guard arrived with another bowl of sludge. By then, Sirius had already changed into his dog form and waited for the door to open. A key rattled in the lock. Then the door slowly opened. First, there could be seen a narrow crack which slowly grew wider and wider. When it got wide enough, he slipped through ran as fast as he could. He sprinted away from the high security area, through the lower security areas, through the gate, down a slope and into the cold sea which surrounded the island. The water was chilly and the weather was getting windy, but he paid it no mind. He had to get away from this place. And get away he did.

**Summer of 1993, Little Whinging, Surrey**

Harry Potter sighed as he finally got a chance to lay down after a day filled with chores. The Dursleys still clearly remembered the incident with Dobby and the Masons and Harry's escape, and apparently they wanted to get back at him for it. Every day he got a long list of chores and if he didn't finish them by the time Vernon came home in the evening, he was denied a part of his dinner. He could manage without the food, but it was much worse when they did not give him water. He didn't have many opportunities to drink during the day and if he didn't get any water in the evening, his head ached and he felt awful overall. He wanted to get away from Privet drive, but the Weasleys were in Egypt and Hermione was in France with her parents, so he had nowhere to go.

The cat flap in his door opened and Petunia's hand put in a glass of water and a plate with some lukewarm leftovers. After last summer Harry was permanently banned from the dining table.

He took the food and quickly ate it before it got completely cold and put the empty dishes back near the cat flap. After the long and tiring day filled with chores he had no inclination to do homework or do any thinking at all. He only wanted to get some sleep, so he marked another day on his makeshift calendar and fell asleep.

**Summer of 1993, Hogwarts**

Minerva McGonnagal had to keep herself from skipping as she walked to the owlery. The document she had to send was one she never expected to deal with. It was an advertisement for the _Daily Prophet _and the international _History Monthly_ offering the position of a History teacher.

She still had to laugh when she remembered the row between Cuthbert Binns and Batsheba Babbling which ended with the Ancient runes professor firing the spell which finally exorcised the annoying ghost. Afterwards, Albus tried to give Batsheba a look of disappointment, but it didn't work on her. She insisted that Binns had not been a teacher, only a constant annoyance. In this she was supported by almost all of her colleagues.

As soon as Minerva entered the owlery, an eagle owl flew down from the rafters and stuck out its leg. The Transfiguration teacher tied her two letters to it and sent the owl on its way. On her way back to her quarters she met Severus Snape.

"Sending out advertisements for a new History teacher" he asked.

When she nodded in answer, he continued: "Binns should have been gone a hundred years ago. He always managed to make the students even stupider than they really are. In the Potions classes which directly followed History there were much more accidents than in the others."

"I can believe that," replied Minerva. "Pomona and Silvanus (_A/N: Kettleburn, CoMC professor before Hagrid)_ had similar problems."

"Let us hope then that we won't get another Lockhart or Binns. By the way, did Albus find another idiot to teach defence yet?"

Minerva shot her younger colleague a reproachful look. "Yes, Severus, Albus _did_ find a new defence teacher. He said we should both remember him. According to Albus, he is your former classmate and my former student."

"Well, that is not very comforting. The students in my year group were mostly average, totally dunderheaded, or if they actually could do a spell properly, they were arrogant idiots."

The transfiguration teacher frowned. "Isn't that a little harsh? I would say that your year group was definitely above average and there were several very bright students."

"You think that, Minerva, if it gives you comfort," growled Snape. "Have a nice day." After this he sped up his steps and walked away, with his black cloak billowing behind him.

Minerva sighed. She also hoped that the new additions to the staff would be intelligent and capable, but now she was also reminded that there was one other thing she should pray for and it was the ability of the new teachers to hold their own in a verbal battle with Severus, or, in the words of one of her Gryffindors, their ability to show that they wouldn't put up with his crap.

**Summer of 1993, Office of the USA ICW representative, Washington, USA**

Newly elected ICW representative for USA Patrick McAdams sat in his office during the lunch break and discussed British wizards with his daughter Irene and his friend Charles Brown, head of Potions Department at American Magical University.

"So, Charles, how was your time in Britain?" Patrick asked his old friend.

"I'd like to say I have thoroughly enjoyed myself, but that wouldn't be true," sighed Brown.

"What has spoiled your trip?" asked Irene.

"Some of the people Horace introduced and also the attitudes and airs of many British wizards. For example, when I mentioned that my team and I are trying to find use for some muggle analytical and preparative methods in potion making, one Mr. Damocles Belby looked at me as if I have gone mad, he hardly ever spoke to me afterwards, and when he did, he treated me as if I was mentally retarded. Horace was a bit better, he remained a gracious host, but he wouldn't hear about the research. It is best to stay with old reliable methods, my foot. He was not interested in something which could make his work easier and even save him money," ranted Professor Brown.

"Were you trying to talk to him about the various extractions you were testing?" inquired Patrick.

"Yes. I should have saved my breath though," grumbled the potions master. "Oh, and before I forget it, he was going on and on about somebody named Severus who would perhaps _give my articles a look when he has nothing to do!_"

Brown's last sentence was accompanied by a disgusted huff. Both McAdamses were slightly amused when they heard the rant, but they were also understanding, because their own work was sometimes mocked or thought unimportant. As a history teacher Irene had encountered questions like 'I'm going to be a Charms master, so what use do I have for History?' and Patrick, before he earned a reputation of someone who you should listen to and take seriously, encountered his own share of Belbys.

"So if I understand you correctly, uncle, British wizards are extremely conservative and arrogant?" asked Irene.

"I would hope that not all of them are like that, but when it comes to the old families, they each have at least one person who is backward in their way of thinking."

"And what about my future boss, Dumbledore? I know that he has three important positions in Britain and according to dad's predecessor he likes to use emotional blackmail to get things to be how he wants them. What do they say about him in his homeland?"

The potions master smiled and answered: "Well, there are basically three different opinions on Dumbledore. The Light side thinks he can do no wrong, the Dark side looks down on him because they think he is, what did they call him? Ah, a muggle-loving fool, and the neutrals believe that he hands out sweets instead of solutions."

There was a quiet moment when both Patrick and his daughter thought about Charles' words. Then the elder McAdams spoke.

"The Light side thinks he can do no wrong? I think he is bound to make a mistake. A headmaster, the Chief Warlock of the British Wizengamot and Supreme Mugwump of the ICW? I think that is too much for one person to handle well. Of course, it is possible that one of the positions is really handled by some poor deputy who doesn't even get the credit for it."

Irene frowned at this and in dejected tone said: "I really should have taken the position at Salem Institute."

"You should," retorted Charles. "Oh, and Irene?"

"Yes?"

"Buy a boxing bag and gloves. You have inherited your father's temper and many of the magical Brits are exactly the kind of people who can easily set it off."


	2. Musings

**A/N: I don't own Harry Poter**

**A/N2: I'd like to thank those who added this story to their alerts or favourites. I'd also like to ask for reviews - after all, you cannot improve your writing without knowing where are your weakneses.**

**Chapter 2**

**30 July 1993, Hogwarts**

Albus Dumbledore sat at his desk, contemplating the school year which would begin in September. It was not going to be a peaceful year, at least not for him. There was an important ICW meeting scheduled in December and after a long time Great Britain was the hosting country. Albus didn't want to speak or think badly of anybody, but when he imagined Cornelius Fudge and Dolores Umbridge meeting and socializing with the foreign officials, he had to cringe. It was a recipe for international embarrassment. Fudge was the kind of person who didn't read much, if you put it politely, and Umbridge often proudly proclaimed her hatred for, and feeling of superiority over, anything and anybody who wasn't a pureblood wizard. This was a disaster waiting to happen. Albus knew some of the representatives were quite passionate about the rights of any magical creatures, and two of them, namely the French and Swiss representatives were a part-veela and a werewolf, respectively. Also, there would be a new representative from USA and Albus had no idea what to expect from him.

While the headmaster was thinking about the ICW meeting, Minerva McGonnagal was for the last time inspecting the newly renovated history teachers' quarters. The new teacher, Ms. McAdams would arrive in just a few hours. Minerva was glad that someone with sufficient qualifications had answered the advertisement. It was a proof of how bad a teacher Binns had been and also of how low the standards for his course had slipped, that no British witch or wizard had applied for the job. The answers she dealt with were all from young foreign people, who have graduated this year or only a few years ago.

Minerva was very curious about the students' future opinions on the hopefully improved history lessons. She contacted one of Ms. McAdams' former professors, whose name was given as one of the people to write to for references, and his answer looked very promising.

Professor McGonnagal's musings were interrupted by a house elf popping into the room.

"Yes, Tilly?" she asked the creature.

"Professor Dumbledore says that the new professor has just flooed in and asks you to come to his office, madam."

"Thank you. Tell him I'll be there in a few minutes," said Minerva and set out to greet her new colleague.

Irene McAdams sneezed as she got out of the floo. She wasn't very fond of wizarding ways to travel. Yes, they were much faster than non-magical ones, but she would pick a plane over an international portkey and a train over long-distance apparition or flooing any day. Unfortunately, there was no mundane train station sufficiently near Hogwarts.

"Welcome at Hogwarts, Miss McAdams," said a man's voice pleasantly.

She turned and saw headmaster Dumbledore with a welcoming smile on his face. She returned the greeting: "Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be here."

"And I'm sure the staff here will be glad to meet you. In fact, my deputy, Minerva McGonnagal, mentioned that she got a very good impression of you during your correspondence. And speaking of Minerva, I should notify her that you have arrived. Tilly!"

A house elf popped into the room. "What can Tilly do for you sir?" the elf inquired.

"Please inform professor McGonnagal that our new history teacher has arrived," requested the headmaster.

The elf nodded and apparated away. There were a few moments of silence, then Dumbledore started talking again.

"You have arrived at a very good time. There will be plenty of time for you to familiarize yourself with the castle and the surroundings before the annual madness about the beginning of the school starts."

Irene smiled as she answered. "That was my intention. There are some things which can be detrimental to a teacher's authority, and getting lost on the way to your classroom is definitely one of them."

At that moment a knock on the door could be heard.

"Come in," called the headmaster.

Minerva McGonnagal opened the door and entered. When she got a proper look at her new colleague, she frowned thoughtfully. The younger woman looked quite familiar. Before she could say a word, Dumbledore took the initiative.

"Ah, Minerva, meet our new colleague, professor McAdams."

McGonnagal turned to Irene and gave a small smile. "Welcome, Ms. McAdams," she greeted her. Irene returned the greeting and then Minerva continued:

"I will show you your quarters. If you'd like to have dinner with the rest of the staff later on, just call for Tilly and she will show you where to go. Shall we be on our way?"

Irene agreed, and they set off. She was once again glad for her early arrival. The various corridors and staircases reminded her of a constantly changing maze, which is nearly impossible to get through and she had no illusion that she would be able to find her way around the castle in two or three days. She turned to the older woman.

"Professor McGonnagal?"

"Yes?"

"Would it be possible for me to get a map of the castle?" she inquired.

"I'm afraid, that there is none available. But Tilly or any other house elf will be glad to show you the way. I'm also certain that the staff here will be helpful, too. Oh, we have arrived."

They stopped in front of a portrait of an old wizard in mismatched clothes reading a book.

"Good afternoon, professor Blyth," greeted McGonnagal. "This is professor McAdams, new occupant of the history teacher's quarters."

Professor Blyth nodded and opened the hidden door. The two women went inside and McGonnagal continued talking.

"You have an access to the history classroom from your quarters and you can also set a password for your door and change it at will. Dinner will be at seven o'clock in the great hall, but if you are tired after the journey, a house elf can bring you a tray here. I think that is all for the moment. If think about any other questions, feel free to ask," instructed Minerva and strode back to the door.

"Thank you for the information, madam," said Irene.

"It is no problem. I'll see you later."

Irene returned the parting civility and waited until the portrait swung shut. Then she pulled her shrunken luggage from her backpack and started unpacking.

Meanwhile in the corridor Minerva tried to figure out whom had Ms. McAdams' appearance reminded her of. She called up the faces of all her current acquaintances, but her new colleague resembled none of them. Then she went through her classmates at Hogwarts. She saw in her mind one face after another, Hufflepuffs, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws and Slytherins. The answer to the puzzle was in the last group and it made her flinch violently. Her new colleague bore a resemblance to Tom Riddle. Minerva just hoped that hair colour and some features in her face were the only resemblance to him.

It was now nearing seven o'clock in the evening and Irene McAdams was taking one last look in the mirror before calling Tilly to show her the way to the Great hall. She was tired after her journey, but she was also very curious about the castle, its inhabitants, and also about the cause for the looks McGonnagal had been giving her. Perhaps there would be an opportunity to find out what was it all about. Satisfied with her appearance, Irene turned away from the mirror and called:

"Tilly!"

The little house elf popped into the room, inquiring expression on her face.

"How can Tilly help, madam?" she asked.

"Would you show me the way to the great hall, please?" requested Irene.

Tilly nodded and motioned for the history professor to follow her. They took several turns and went down several staircases, before they arrived in the entrance hall. Tilly pointed to the golden double door and announced:

"The Great hall is just behind the door, madam."

Irene thanked the elf and entered. She saw several people seated at a table on the opposite side of the hall. A tall middle-aged woman was helping herself to some of the food and a pale dark-haired man was deep in discussion with one of his colleagues who had an artificial hand, eye-patch and what looked as a big collection of scars on his face. At the sound of the large door closing, almost everyone at the table turned to look at the newcomer. Professor McGonnagal motioned for Irene to join them and the young teacher did so. When she arrived at the table, the deputy headmistress took care of the introductions.

"Professor McAdams, I'm glad you decided to join us," she welcomed her new colleague and then turned to everyone seated at the table and continued: "I'd like to introduce Miss Irene McAdams, our new history teacher."

Irene gave what she hoped was an open and friendly smile. McGonnagal went on with the introductions. "Miss McAdams, on my left you see Pomona Sprout, head of Hufflepuff and our herbology professor. Next to her is Filius Flitwick, head of Ravenclaw and also charms professor. On my right is Severus Snape, head of Slytherin and Hogwarts' potion master."

Irene watched the reactions of each person introduced. Sprout gave her the same thoughtful look as McGonnagal when they first met. Flitwick nodded and smiled in greeting and Snape curtly nodded and turned back to his colleague. After a short pause McGonnagal finished the introductions.

"Seated next to Severus is Silvanus Kettleburn, who teaches care of magical creatures-"here Kettleburn waved- "and next to Silvanus sits Batsheba Babbling, ancient runes professor. On Filius' left is Aurora Sinistra, our astronomy teacher." Sinistra nodded in greeting and Irene now had a name of the woman who she had noticed on her entrance. She also noticed that Sinistra gave her attire of a short-sleeved blouse and a knee-long skirt a disapproving look.

McGonnagal concluded her speech. "The rest of the staff will arrive closer to the beginning of September."

"Thank you for the introduction, professor," said Irene. "I'm glad to have an opportunity to teach here and I hope to get on well with everyone."

Babbling, a pleasant looking woman about McGonnagal's age smiled and motioned to an empty seat next to her, inviting her new colleague to sit down. Irene did so and the Ancient Runes professor started a small-talk:

"How do you like it in Britain and especially in Hogwarts so far?"

"Quite well. The castle is fascinating. As to the surroundings, I have only caught glimpses of them, but I liked what I saw," answered Irene.

"Then you should sometimes take a walk around the lake. It's especially beautiful in summer and without groups of students around also very peaceful," returned Babbling.

"I will be sure to make time for it then," smiled Irene and turned to help herself to some food. Babbling did likewise and for a moment only an occasional clinking of cutlery could be heard. Then the ancient runes professor said quietly:

"I'd also like to give you a warning. You noticed how Sinistra eyed your clothes when you came in?" When Irene nodded, Babbling continued: "For myself, I don't see anything wrong, but there will be others glaring at you or admonishing you for not wearing traditional robes."

Irene thanked her colleague for the warning and returned in her mind to the discussion about British wizarding world she had with her father and his friend. Traditional robes as everyday clothing? Owl post? Parchment and quills used for more than just very formal documents? Exactly how behind other countries the wizarding Britain was? And what other incomprehensible things she was going to find out?

Minerva McGonnagal did not take part in any discussion the other heads of houses had this evening. Her attention was turned to Batsheba Babbling and Irene McAdams. The two women seemed to be getting on well and it gave her hope that the new addition would be just what her resume and references from her professors in America painted her as – a competent history teacher. Minerva knew that Batsheba had a very good instinct when it came to people. Every time when there was a new addition to the staff - and during the years they had been both teaching at Hogwarts they saw quite a few teachers come and go – every single person whom Batsheba avoided from the beginning or towards whom she had been only necessarily polite turned out to be barely competent or otherwise objectionable. The fact that her long-time colleague was open and friendly to Ms. McAdams from the very beginning was a very good omen indeed. Perhaps she should follow Batsheba's example. If nothing else, she would get to know something about another wizarding country and its culture.

**30****th**** July, Alastor Moody's Home**

Alastor Mad-Eye Moody and Amelia Bones sat in Moody's living room, enjoying a glass of wine and a bit of food. Years ago, Alastor was one of Amelia's instructors during her Auror training and she was one of his favourite pupils. Over time the student-teacher relationship developed into a firm friendship, despite the fact that they belonged to different generations. The two established a habit to meet every two weeks over a glass of wine or a lunch and discuss everything that happened since their last meeting. Today's topic was the ICW meeting in December.

"I'll be glad if I'm still sane after it ends," sighed Amelia. "The Aurors are stretched thin even without taking care of the additional security."

"And you have bad feeling about it all, don't you?" asked Moody.

"Yes. As it is, the situation is a disaster waiting to happen. Either there will be much more problems with thieves and thugs, or something will happen to one of the guests. And if it comes to that…" Amelia trailed off with a depressed look on her face.

"There will be heads falling. And one of them will probably be you," Moody finished for her.

Amelia nodded mutely and took a sip from her glass. Since it was confirmed that the ICW representatives would meet in Britain, she had often vacillated between apprehension and irritation. Such an event would be a test of her and her colleagues' abilities even without Fudge repeatedly decreasing the DMLE's budget and the Wizengamot members sticking their noses where they didn't belong. If something went wrong, she, Rufus and Kingsley would be blamed, but those who unnecessarily made their job more difficult would get away with it.

While Amelia was thinking, Moody emptied his glass of wine and started talking again. "In fact, somebody is bound to get attacked, and not just with rotten eggs or tomatoes."

Amelia quickly turned and gave Moody a sharp look. "An "acquaintance" gave you a tip?" she asked him.

"No, not this time. I had a talk with Nymphadora and it got me thinking. The situation here is a mess, the girl saw it too and got curious about how did it end up like this. She came up with interesting information. To put it briefly, the dark side is not the only group who would get nasty when somebody as much as thinks that their ways are not always perfect, or that their neat and ordered world could use some changes."

Moody interrupted his speech to pour himself a glass of water for his dry throat. His guest stayed quiet, thinking about his words. After a few moments he continued: "The ICW representatives wouldn't get their positions if they were blind or idiotic and Albus doesn't have a chance to pull wool over all of their eyes. It is just a matter of time before one or more of them notices the situation here and starts digging deeper," he said gravely

"They will then step on someone's toes and we are screwed," moaned Amelia and put her head in her hands.

"Thank you for both the wine and the warnings," said Amelia as she stood on the edge of the anti-apparition wards around Moody's property. Tonight's meeting did not help her relax, in fact, it had the exact opposite effect. She was more worried and depressed than when she arrived and it was showing.

"Don't mention it," answered Moody. "I won't tell you that you shouldn't worry, because that would be downright stupid, but don't get too depressed. You are not alone in this. Shacklebolt is a good and reliable man and for Rufus it is a matter of pride to do everything he was ordered to do flawlessly."

Amelia nodded, but Moody saw that she was still worried. Giving him a parting wave, she stepped over the edge of the wards and apparated away. Moody slowly limped back to his small house, thinking about the current situation. He was starting to get concerned about Amelia. She had enough work as it was and stayed in her office every day from early morning to late afternoon. The only reason for her to lighten her impossible regime and get some rest was her niece Susan. Otherwise, she didn't have many friends or even friendly acquaintances.

Moody thought back to the time when Amelia was an Auror trainee. She had an ambition and a dream that she could perhaps make a change in the wizarding world, particularly in its sometimes absurd and restricting laws, but over the years of dealing with the sometimes thankless and always difficult job of the head of DMLE, Fudge, Umbridge and the Wizengamot, the dream paled and paled until it faded into nothingness. Amelia now seemed resigned to the state of things, only doing her everyday duties and trying to ensure that British DMLE wouldn't become a complete laughingstock. Moody knew that this was not healthy for anyone and particularly not for Amelia. He was worried about both her physical and mental health. With the ICW meeting the pressure and demands on her time would get more intense and he could only imagine unhappy outcomes, one worse than another.

**30****th**** July, Patrick McAdams' office**

Patrick McAdams was sitting behind his desk discussing the December ICW meeting with James Wilson, the head of his security detail. Wilson insisted on tighter security than they would usually have and while Patrick wasn't exactly happy about it, he understood the necessity.

"The Brits are very isolated, so I don't know much about Bones' and Scrimgeour's abilities, sir. I have also talked to some of the young Brits who have recently come to live here, and from what they said, we can expect extremely conservative environment and lax execution of laws. With you standing for the "try to understand and be understood" attitude when it comes to wizards and non-magicals, you are a perfect target for some idiotic extremist," explained Wilson.

"I realize that, James," sighed Patrick. "I won't be making your job more difficult, but I think you can understand why I'm not jumping for joy because of it," he snapped.

Wilson just nodded. The ICW official pressed the bridge of his nose. He had been going over the decisions reached at the last meeting, their results, and files on the people who allowed them to pass and also over some information on the country where the next meeting was going to be. It was now 2 p.m. and he had been in his office from 7 a.m. almost without break. There was also his concern about Irene. He was starting to get a huge headache.

"I'm sorry, James," he apologized, ashamed that he took out his bad mood on Wilson, who was only doing his job. The security head nodded in acknowledgement of the apology. "As to what you said about wizarding Britain, well, I think you have sugar-coated the problems there. I have reports from my predecessor and also from Potions Master Charles Brown, who visited the country recently. I would say bigoted and totalitarian instead of conservative and a disgraceful mess instead of lax execution of laws. A suspected murderer as a close advisor to their Minister?"

The two men exchanged a look of understanding. The ICW meeting was shaping up to be a disaster months before it even started.

**30****th**** July, early afternoon, Privet Drive No. 4, Little Whinging, Surrey**

While washing the dishes after lunch, Harry Potter was contemplating his past life at the Dursleys and the two years he spent at Hogwarts. When he entered the wizarding world, he saw it as a world that had saved him from the hell at the Dursleys, but now he was slowly but surely getting very discontent. Last year, when the Chamber was opened and the attacks started, majority of the students soon started blaming him without even trying to find out his side of the story. Harry thought that in this they were not much different from the people around Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, who trusted without question that he was an unmanageable hooligan.

He paused his thoughts for a moment to drain and rinse the sink and wipe the area around it clean. Then he grabbed a dishtowel and started to dry the freshly washed plates and utensils.

Last night, he had the _privilege_ to listen to another of Vernon's rants. The walrus-like man had said one thing that got Harry thinking and re-evaluating some of his decisions and attitudes, especially those regarding his studies at Hogwarts. Yesterday, Vernon gleefully said to his nephew, that he should be very grateful for the chores he was given, because with his "freaky education" he wouldn't become anything more than a janitor at a local supermarket.

At first, the teenager was angry, but as his pique cooled down, he just had to replay the last few sentences in his head again and again. Whether he liked or not, Vernon had got this one thing right. The subjects taught at Hogwarts were completely useless if you wanted to leave the wizarding world and live your life in the muggle one. This thought was followed by another. If Harry continued to follow Ron's example, he may well become a janitor in the magical world too.

Once more he interrupted his train of thought and focused on the clean dishes. Cutlery to the drawer, plates and bowls in the cupboard, knives to the drawer below the cutlery, everything else on its appropriate peg or shelf. That done, Harry walked to the bathroom and put the used dishtowel to the pile of other towels for washing. Then, he went to Dudley's room, collected the dirty laundry in the hamper and around the room and carried it to the washing machine. When the washing cycle started, he returned to Dudley's room (whose occupant was out with his gang terrorizing the neighbourhood) and began to tidy it up.

"What a disgusting pig," he grumbled, as he picked up empty candy wrappers and looked at the carpet in dismay. There was a lemonade stain and a ton of crumbs was trampled into it. One more thing he'd have to deal with today. Not for the first time Harry wished he had an opportunity to kick Dudley's ass for adding to the chores he already got from Vernon and Petunia.

And speaking of Dudley… there was another resemblance between someone magical and a muggle. First wizard who came to Harry's mind when he looked at Dudley was surprisingly not Draco Malfoy, but Ronald Weasley. His cousin and his fellow Gryffindor had disturbingly similar table manners. Furthermore, when it came to homework, Ron often treated Hermione as Dudley used to treat Harry during primary school, trying to get the bushy-haired girl to do his homework for him or at least do his research for him. With that thought something big and icy-cold dropped into the young wizard's stomach. Had he got close to another Dudley? And worse, had he himself behaved similarly to his cousin? He hoped not, but it wouldn't hurt to look into it properly after the school year started again.

Once again Harry interrupted his thoughts of his friends and his education and turned them back to cleaning. He would vacuum what mess could be vacuumed and then start with the cleaning agent. He had a sneaky feeling that he would be once again denied food or water. Today's list of chores was difficult to finish before Vernon got home even without Dudley making additional mess.

Harry was right to fear that he wouldn't finish all his chores on time. When Vernon arrived from work, there was still the washing of the doorframes to be done. The teenager was sent up to Dusley's second bedroom and after a while Petunia's hand put through the cat-flap a glass of water and nothing more.

Since Harry couldn't start doing his homework assignments until after the Dursleys went to bed, he had quite some time when he had absolutely nothing to do. Well, usually he had nothing to do by this time of the day, but not today. Today he returned to his thoughts from the morning and the afternoon.

He would have to stop following Ron's example and apply himself more in his studies. If he didn't, it would be very difficult to convince the world that he wasn't just relying on his fame to get by. He would start with this years' summer homework. If he got an opportunity to leave Privet Drive soon after his birthday, as he did last year, he would use a large part of any free time to rework the essays to the best of his abilities. And as to the assignments given during the school years at Hogwarts – well, he'd have to spend more time in library, going through more literature than just the textbook or perhaps ask older students for explanations.

If somebody could hear Harry's thoughts, they would probably wonder, why he didn't think of Hermione as the first person to go to for an explanation of a difficult or unclear topic. Well, the answer to that question would be quite simple. Hermione, while caring and loyal friend, had a bad habit of parroting books. When she answered a question from one of their teachers, her words usually quoted the textbook word for word. When Harry caught a glimpse of one of her essays, quite long part of it was once again a quotation from a book. When he asked her for an explanation, her words would be very similar to the writing in their textbook. To sum up, Hermione was brilliant if you needed someone to check your work for mistakes, but when it came to explanations, she had quite a lot of room for improvement.

Harry hoped his two friends would accept and support his decision. He had little doubt about Hermione, but he was less sure about Ron. He vividly remembered the redhead calling Hermione "mental" because of her love of books and insistence that they wouldn't get far without good marks or at least sufficient understanding of the subjects. He would execute his plan, see what happened and react accordingly. After all, he always thought of best solutions when he was under pressure.

**30****th**** July, Hogsmeade**

Sirius Black was glad to be getting to the end of his journey. On his way from the Scottish shores he had to sleep in any place he could find, which often meant inside of an old tree or under a bridge. To get some food, he had to go through trash cans behind grocery stores. But now that he was near Hogwarts, he would at least have some shelter. The Shrieking Shack would be a perfect place to stay. Originally, he wanted to go south and find Harry, but he thought better of it. He didn't know where exactly his godson lived and even if it hurt his pride to admit it, he wasn't healthy enough to attempt it. The best thing to do was to stay where he was and try to get at least a bit better. When the students came in a month, he would be hopefully healthy enough to change the way things were.


	3. Caught!

**4th August, evening, playground near ****Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging, Surrey**

Harry was reasonably sure that this was the worst trouble he's ever been in. Curled up among branches of a high tree, he made a quick inventory of the things he managed to take with him when he fled the Dursleys' house. He had his wand, invisibility cloak and vault key. Everything else had been left behind. He shivered and pulled his baggy and worn shirt tighter around himself. This situation was as far from good as it was possible to get. And how did he end up like this? Well…

_ Harry was inwardly seething. It wasn't enough that after the usual chores and Dudley's deliberate attempts to mess up his work he had to cook dinner and afterwards wash the mountain of dirty dishes which remained after the Dursleys finished, but since Marge was visiting, he had to also wait on them, all the while listening to Marge insulting both himself and his parents. Since her arrival, the rants were getting worse and worse and the one reserved for tonight seemed to be particularly vicious._

_ "You shouldn't blame yourself for the boy turning out as he is, Vernon," said the massive woman. "Bad blood will always show. If someone is a drunk, his children will also end up as drunks and if someone other is a harlot, her children will be harlots too. There is no help for such people. Once dregs of society, always dregs of society. On the other hand, there is one good thing too. Such characters die young, just like his parents did. As for the boy-"_

_ But Marge never finished her hate-filled speech. Harry's last thread of self-control snapped and his magical core responded to the young wizard's fury. Everything made of glass exploded and the shards flew around the dining area. Of the four people at the table, only Petunia dodged fast enough to stay unscathed. The other three sported long and deep scratches on their faces and hands and some of the large shards had also penetrated Marge's palms and forearms and embedded themselves there. The woman was now whimpering in pain, but if she thought the storm was over, she was very much mistaken. Her whole body started to swell, the skin of her hands sliding over the glass shards, causing her even more pain. She didn't stop swelling up until she was perfectly round. _

_Harry's rage cooled down a little when Marge stopped swelling up and the first thought that came into his mind was that tonight's events just might be the last straw for Vernon and the punishment which was sure to follow could be more than just being locked up with no meals. He bolted from the kitchen and ran towards his bedroom, or more accurately, his prison cell_. _Once inside, he lifted the loose floorboard and picked up his wand, cloak and vault key, and sprinted downstairs and outside as fast as he could. _

_ The neighbours, who were disturbed and startled by the sound of breaking glass and Marge's shrieks of pain were standing on their lawns or the pavement, trying to work out what exactly happened. Because Harry ran out of the front door, there was no chance for him to remain unseen._

_ "That is the Potter boy, I'm sure it is his fault!" shrieked a woman's voice._

_ "Right you are Yvonne, somebody call the police!" shouted another woman._

_ One of the neighbours swiftly walked away to make the call. That action seemed to shake the crowd from their stupor and they started to slowly advance towards Harry. The teen didn't wait for them to tighten the circle and turned back to the house, sprinted through the living room, kitchen and the dining area where Marge was still whimpering under the ceiling and Petunia was fussing over Dudley. Vernon was still sitting at the table, dazed expression on his face. Harry ignored the persons present, whizzed through the backyard, jumped over the picket fence and headed towards the park near Magnolia crescent, the first place he could think of where he could hide. He climbed into the branches of a thick and tall tree. In the past, he escaped Dudley's gang by hiding like this. It had never occurred to them to look up when they searched for him. Harry just hoped that his neighbours and the police officers would forget to do that, too._

Safely hidden for the moment, Harry tried to get a glimpse of the happenings at Privet Drive through the branches and leaves. He could see periodically flashing lights, which meant the police and possibly also medical help has arrived. That thought was like a punch to the gut. This was the second time he caused somebody a potentially serious injury. He wasn't telling himself that nothing bad happened, because that would be a complete lie. Marge had large, sharp pieces of glass stuck in her palms and forearms and he remembered enough from primary school to know that there were some very important veins in that part of human body.

His anger started to give way to distress when the thought of him causing a serious injury to another human being was suddenly accompanied by realization, that this was the second magical incident at Privet Drive and that he may very well be expelled from Hogwarts. He propped his head against a thick branch, not knowing what to do or where to go, willing himself not to cry, not having any idea of the true magnitude of the havoc wrought by his anger.

**4****th**** August, evening, Amelia Bones' office, Ministry of magic**

Amelia Bones was going through the stack of monthly reports handed in by the heads of DMLE's various subdivisions, when she was interrupted by a loud and insistent knock on her door.

"Come in," she called.

The door opened, revealing Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, who looked furious. Rather than allow him to start a rant, she asked:

"What has happened to get you in such a mood?"

"Mafalda Hopkirk got a warning about some serious underage sorcery which was much stronger than the usual prank spells, but as she was having tea in Umbridge's office, she found out about it half an hour late and as if it wasn't enough, instead of informing me, she went to Fudge. If I hadn't run into the minister's secretary in the cafeteria, I wouldn't know about the incident," said Scrimgeour heatedly.

"What has been done to sort out the mess?" queried Amelia.

"I have sent Shacklebolt and three others just five minutes ago to find out what exactly happened. There was no communication from them yet."

"Very well," sighed the DMLE director. "Tell me immediately when you get new information. And as for Mafalda, have someone waiting for her in front of her office tomorrow morning. I need to have a long talk with her."

Scrimgeour nodded and exited the office. Amelia tried to return to the reports, but her thought kept wandering back to the underage sorcery incident. Detection of magic stronger than a prank spell was bad news. It most likely meant that either there was a teenage bigot having some "fun" away from home or there was a teenager in serious trouble. There could be a different reason for the underage sorcery, but the DMLE head thought that it was very unlikely. Either of the mentioned options was unpleasant to deal with. In the first case, the culprit would walk free after a slap on the wrist thanks to an intervention from Fudge, and in the second case the victim wouldn't get adequate help, again due to an intervention from outside of the DMLE.

The last thought gave Amelia a pause. A culprit receiving too mild or in some cases no punishment, while the victim got no help and sometimes even scolding for getting in trouble. Any outside observer would come to the conclusion that people responsible for upholding and enforcing the laws were either biased or incompetent. Amelia also knew that many members of old pureblood families were not exactly fond of her because of her attempts to ensure everyone got their due. On the other hand, there were muggleborns and large part of half-bloods who were discontent, because the final verdict was often in their disadvantage, regardless of who was the injured party. She often felt stuck between a rock and a hard place and she had lately started to doubt her ability to continue in her position.

When she started at the ministry, a young Auror freshly out of training, she was hoping to get to a position from which she could protect those who weren't able to do it themselves and deal with those who disregarded laws and injured those weaker than them just for their own amusement. Her parents had been worried when she got accepted to the Auror training program, after all, Voldemort had been at full strength and there had been a war raging, but in the end they supported her decision. Edgar, her younger brother, suddenly thought that his annoying older sister was extremely "cool" and her small group of friends had similar opinions as her parents. In those days Amelia felt that she could go against the world and win, but eventually all her friends and family, apart from her little niece, fell victims to Voldemort's Death Eaters and some of the suspected killers walked away free.

Back then, she had been simultaneously mad with grief, angry at those who trusted the "_Imperius_ excuse" and out of her depth when it came to raising a little girl, but she still went on, hoping to ensure that Susan grew up in a better world than her aunt did. Now it seemed she was failing the task. Her eyes started to sting and a lump formed in her throat.

"Stop it," Amelia chastised herself. She sat straighter in her chair and tried to concentrate on the papers on her desk. She regained her composure just in time. A few moments afterwards, Scrimgeour burst in the office.

"Shacklebolt sends a word. There is a muggle in shock and three others injured, one of them seriously. Apparently there was a huge accidental magic outburst and one of the muggles was inflated and floating around. Muggle healers and police were called and every neighbour was there staring. They have located the kid who did it and they are bringing him here. Fudge has not been seen. Accidental magic reversal squad and the obliviators had been sent to deal with the situation."

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling the beginning of a massive headache. "Well done. I'll go with you to the interrogation room to hear what the kid has to say," she announced quietly and rose, the reports on her desk forgotten for the day.

**4****th**** August, evening, back at the playground**

Harry let out the breath he didn't even realize he was holding. The police officers did show up at the park with strong flashlights, but just as everyone else they hadn't looked up and therefore didn't find him. He could still see the flashing lights at Privet Drive and hoped they wouldn't return to do another search. When he was contemplating climbing down the tree and finding another, more distant place to hide, he caught a movement in the corner of his eye. Then something invisible brushed his face and the object he noticed, which he now saw was a person, started to move towards him. If the strange brushing sensation hadn't alerted the boy that the mystery person was magical, the billowing robes certainly did the job.

Harry's heartbeat and breath quickened when he noticed that the stranger wasn't alone. They must have been ministry people sent to arrest him. His first thought was to run away, but a mocking voice in his head, which sounded suspiciously like professor Snape, told him that these people were specially trained to catch other wizards and most likely had a lot of practice, while he had been learning magic only for two years. This thought was followed by a feeling of resignation. The teen made sure that the invisibility cloak, wand and vault key were safely in his pockets and climbed down the tree to wait for the ministry wizards.

He didn't have to wait long. The group of three men surrounded him and their leader, a tall black wizard, pulled out a pair of manacles.

"You are going with us, kid. We need to ask you a few questions."

Feeling numb, Harry just nodded and held out his wrists. The older wizard put the manacles on him while lifting an eyebrow in surprise at the teenager's behaviour. He turned to one of the two men who accompanied him: "Dawlish, go help Williamson."

The man in question nodded and disappeared with a pop. "Perks, you're coming with us back to the ministry," was the order for the second man. He also nodded and disappeared with a pop. The wizard who restrained Harry gripped one of the teen's arms tightly and turned on the spot. Suddenly, Harry felt an unpleasant squeezing and pulling sensation and struggled to keep his stomach calm. Luckily, the ordeal didn't last long. When he could finally breathe properly and his stomach settled, he found himself standing between his escort and Perks in a spacious hall. It had midnight blue ceiling with strange moving symbols painted on it, there were many fireplaces for floo travel and also golden grids behind which could be seen something like elevator shafts. In the middle of the hall was a fountain composed of statues of a wizard and witch, goblin, centaur and a house elf. All of the non-humans were in submissive poses, with awed and admiring expressions on their faces.

Despite the trouble he was in, Harry got an urge to snort. He would very much like to see the reactions of Griphook the goblin and Ronan and Bane the centaurs if they caught a glimpse of the fountain. It would be interesting to watch and if Dobby the house elf was to join them… The teen was brought back on earth by a nudge from the wizard who was escorting him.

"Come on, kid. Up to the interrogation room," said the wizard who held him by his upper arm seriously and started walking towards the golden grids, which were indeed elevator entrances. The sound of the grid snapping closed increased Harry's nervousness. Was there going to be a similar sound when they closed his prison cell? At this point he only wanted the whole business to be over, whether he ended up in prison or walked away free. The elevator stopped and his escort led him through a long corridor with several doors, until they got to an entrance labelled: "Interrogation room – Auror Office". When they walked in, two other people were already present - a tall, stern looking blonde woman and a man with greying hair reminiscent of a lion's mane and a grave expression on his face. Both greeted the men who led him in the room with a nod and then turned their faces to the teenager.

Harry would prefer not having to look at them at all, but he knew he would have to do it. He took a deep breath and lifted his head and squared his shoulders. When he met the adult's eyes, the greying man's eyebrows lifted in surprise, and the woman pinched the bridge of her nose in a gesture similar to Hermione when they got a long homework and Ron wouldn't stop asking questions, not letting her finish any of her work. It seemed that once again, strangers knew who he was without him ever saying his name, and once again, his getting into trouble had bigger impact than any of his peers getting into the same situation.

When the DMLE director and her head Auror got into the interrogation room and closed the door behind them, Amelia turned to Scrimgeour and immediately asked for details.

"Rufus, you said that there were injured muggles. Did Kingsley say something more about it?"

"Yes, he did. We need to get a closer look at the damage, but most likely it started like many accidental magic outbursts do – with shattering glass, but instead of just broken dishes there were also shattered windows and lights and it didn't stop after that, it continued with the shards flying around and a woman getting blown up like a balloon. The neighbours heard the noises, reacted and now we have this mess to sort out."

"When they bring the kid here, in addition to the kid's words I want a copy of his memory of the incident," said Amelia.

Scrimgeour nodded in agreement. They both knew well that accidental magic outbursts happened mostly when a magical child was either scared or angry and the cause of such large-scale incident could only be something extremely unpleasant and extremely serious. As to what happened to the muggles, with glass shards flying around, Amelia imagined there were some nasty cuts and stabs.

There was a moment when neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts, Amelia trying to come up with a plausible reason for this yet unknown child's magical outburst and Rufus Scrimgeour thinking about ways to make Mafalda Hopkirk's life as miserable as possible. It were these thoughts that got the Head Auror to speak again.

"Amelia, do you want Jones and Tonks to make Mafalda stew in her own juice tomorrow?" he asked with an evil smile.

The DMLE head opened her mouth to decline and reprimand her colleague, but then she thought of other times when Mafalda did not do her job properly, stuck her nose where it didn't belong or instead of informing the proper person from DMLE about an incident went to Fudge or Umbridge. Amelia's stern expression morphed into a predatory smile.

"Yes, please. And tell the two to enjoy it."

"I'll definitely do that," answered Scrimgeour, still smiling viciously.

They spoke no more and waited for Shacklebolt to arrive with the teenager. They didn't have to wait longer than ten minutes. The door was opened, revealing Perks and Shacklebolt, who was holding a skinny black-haired boy in baggy and ragged clothes by his upper left arm. Amelia and Scrimgeour greeted the two Aurors with a nod and focused their attention on the boy.

The teen's shoulders were hunched and he stared at the ground, just like any other youngster who got into trouble with an authority, but he didn't stay in that attitude. The boy took a deep breath, straightened up and the four adults got a proper view of his face. Scrimgeour's eyebrows shot upwards and Amelia felt her headache worsen. The situation was bad enough to attract the attention of _Daily Prophet_, or more specifically Rita Skeeter, even if the teenager involved were unknown and unconnected to anybody significant, but now … looking at the lightning-bolt shaped scar on the boy's forehead, the DMLE director felt a strong urge to curse, bash her head against the wall, burst into hysterical laughter or do all of the things at once.

After briefly closing her eyes and taking a deep breath to calm herself down she again focused on the teen in front of her. Shacklebolt sat the boy down in a chair near a small table. Perks cast a sticking charm on him. Scrimgeour sat on the opposite side of the table, pulled out a roll of parchment and a dicta-quill and started his questioning.

"Name?"

"Harry James Potter."

"Address?"

"Number four, Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey."

"Now, Mr. Potter, we got a report of an underage magic incident, which after a closer look seems more like an accidental magic outburst in the area where you live. Do you have an explanation for it?"

The teen did not answer, but to Amelia it seemed more like he was unsure of how much to reveal than arrogance or insolence. After a few moment's wait, Scrimgeour spoke again.

"Telling us truthfully everything that happened tonight can only help you. If you didn't do anything bad on purpose, we can let you go sooner and if you did, the punishment will be less severe if you cooperate."

There was once again a quiet moment. The only sound that could be heard was soft clinking of the manacles as the boy nervously moved his hands. He gulped and finally spoke again.

"Am I going to be expelled from Hogwarts?" he asked quietly.

"That depends on whether you did what you did just for shits and giggles or whether it was really just an accident," answered Scrimgeour. "As I said, it will be better for you if you cooperate. Was it an accident, or did you do it on purpose?"

"It was an accident," was the teen's answer.

"What started the outburst?"

"I quarrelled with my uncle's sister."

Here Amelia stopped Scrimgeour from asking another question with a look and remarked: "I don't think you're telling the whole truth, Mr. Potter. A simple quarrel with an unpleasant relative could cause a glass or a plate to break, but to get a wizard so furious that practically everything made of glass shattered and flew around the room there must have happened something worse."

When the teen looked down guiltily, Amelia knew that her conjecture was correct. "Try again, Mr. Potter, this time without keeping anything back."

The boy lifted his eyes to her, begging her silently that she let it be, but she was unmoved. Before another word could be said, Perks walked up from a side table and handed Scrimgeour a piece of parchment. When he got an enquiring look from Amelia, he explained:

"I have tested Mr. Potter's wand for the last few spells performed. There was some second year transfiguration, a disarming hex, _lumos_ spell and some very interesting writing."

Perks pulled out his own wand and conjured in the air fiery letters saying:

TOM MARVOLO RIDDLE

Then he waved his wand and the letters rearranged themselves:

I AM LORD VOLDEMORT

It seemed that the situation got even more convoluted than before.

Harry wanted to tell these wizarding police officers the entire truth, but he had to keep it to himself. The man who questioned him said it would be better for him to cooperate, but Harry disagreed. He would have to eventually return to the Dursleys and if he told these people the truth and they tried to change the way his relatives treated him, things at Privet Drive would get worse, just as they did the few times he told the teachers at Little Whinging primary school. The stern looking woman wanted him to tell them everything, but it was just not possible. Then one of men, Perks, examined his wand.

Now, there was a familiar fiery writing floating in the air and the four adults seemed to be in a stupor, exchanging curious and confused glances. First to come to his senses was the greying man.

"Jenny!" he called and a house elf in a pristine white tea towel popped into the room.

"Yes master Scrimgeour?"

"Get my colleagues and me some coffee and a glass of water for Mr. Potter."

The elf popped away and reappeared a few moments later with a tray filled with the required drinks. The greying man, whose last name was apparently Scrimgeour, dismissed the creature, poured a cup of the hot aromatic drink and handed it to the only present witch. After serving himself he put the glass of water in front of Harry and levitated the tray to the same table where Perks had tested Harry's wand.

"Mr. Potter, you understand that after we ascertain what exactly happened at Privet Drive, we'll also have to address the words that came out of your wand?" asked Scrimgeour.

Harry nodded, feeling his stomach drop. The wizard in front of him continued speaking:

"Back to the Privet Drive incident. As you heard, Madame Bones doesn't think that you were truthful when you told us what triggered the outburst and I'm inclined to agree with her. I also don't think that you reacted as you did because your uncle's sister was somehow hurting or threatening people you care about. If that was what had happened, you probably wouldn't be so secretive. So once again, we established it was an accident. Tell us, what caused it."

Once again, there was an interruption before Harry even opened his mouth, this time from Madame Bones.

"I have another question I'd like you to answer before you start talking about tonight, Mr. Potter. Why are you so determined to hold back or downplay the reason for the magical outburst?"

Harry sharply turned his gaze to Madame Bones, the witch who asked the question which other people like professor McGonnagal and headmaster Dumbledore failed to ask. Could he trust her to listen and make a judgement only after she had the complete picture?

The witch seemed to guess what was going through his head, because she gave a small, almost imperceptible smile and reassured him:

"I will listen to you without interruptions, Mr. Potter, but this time you have to tell me everything just as it happened, without downplaying or exaggerating anything."

For a moment, Harry studied the witch's face. There was nothing mocking or malicious in her expression. The teen made his decision. He straightened in his seat, took a sip of the water and started to talk.

**4****th**** August, evening, staffroom at Hogwarts**

Irene McAdams sat at the large table in Hogwarts' staffroom, her lesson plans and syllabi spread around a great part of its surface. Of all those plans and syllabi made before she arrived in Britain and found out exactly how atrocious her predecessor's lessons were without professor McGonnagal sugar-coating the situation, she would only be able to use those for the first-years and perhaps some of the second year plans. For the older students she needed to make new, completely different plans. At first, Irene wanted to break something or shout at someone, preferably her predecessor or professor McGonnagal, but when she calmed down, she saw the whole problem as a challenge – and Irene McAdams loved challenges.

She had just finished the fourth year plan and gave a small exclamation of triumph when the door opened, admitting Batsheba Babbling and professors Flitwick and Snape, who seemed to have an argument. Snape was in the middle of a very angry rant while the two others were listening.

"… mediocre intelligence, constantly impolite, always blaming the results of his own utter stupidity and ineptitude on others-"

The potion master's vitriolic speech was interrupted by Flitwick, who sounded quite irritated.

"Severus, I believe your description of Mr. Potter is completely inaccurate. I have never seen him fool around in my lessons or chat with his friends during a lecture. He has a solid E in Charms, with a little effort it could be even O. The few times I have talked with him outside of classes he was polite. When I think about it, your observation would be spot on if you talked about Mr. McLaggen and youngest Mr. Weasley from Gryffindor, Mr. Smith from Hufflepuff, Miss Edgecombe from my own House or your Mr. Malfoy and Miss Parkinson, but Mr. Potter is different."

Snape didn't say anything in reply to Flitwick's admonishment and turned away, apparently determined to stand behind his expressed opinion, but his colleagues were not finished. Batsheba Babbling added her own observations.

"I have noticed that you always complain about Mr. Potter, but we never hear a word about Miss Bell, Miss Abbot or Mr. McMillan. It is true that when you were went to school together, their parents didn't hex you for fun like James Potter and his friends did, but the mothers of these three students belonged to a group of girls I always wanted to slap for their idiotic and deliberately hurtful remarks and if my memory serves me well, you used to be one of their favourite targets. So explain to me why all of them don't get the same treatment from you? What sets Mr. Potter apart?"

Snape turned to Babbling, ready to give a long and angry answer, when he noticed Irene, who sat at the staffroom table completely still and stared at the scene in front of her with wide eyes. He gave her a murderous glare, turned on his heel and stalked away, the door slamming shut behind him.

The three remaining teachers exchanged awkward glances. In the end the Ancient runes professor spoke:

"Irene, we would appreciate if the scene remained just between us."

"Understood," the History professor agreed and tried to return to her lesson plans. Flitwick noticed and commented:

"Last minute adjustments?"

"Sadly, no. A complete overhaul is more accurate. I was told the students here were a little behind, but …"

Irene had a few choice words and commentaries about the quality of the History lessons, the previously used textbook and the former teacher, but she stopped herself. Picking on Flitwick's and Babbling's former colleague was not a particularly smart thing to do and she also didn't want the two older teachers to think that she was whining.

As it turned out, Irene's fears were unfounded. Babbling gave an undignified snort and said:

"A little behind in History. If the students here are just a little behind in History, then Lucius Malfoy has a slightly conservative attitude."

Flitwick sighed and added: "I hate to admit it, but you are right, Batsheba." He then turned to Irene. "Miss McAdams, may I have a look at some of your finished plans?"

"Of course," said Irene with a smile and handed him the lesson plans for the first four years. The Charms professor seated himself in a nearby armchair and studied the papers while Babbling seated herself near her younger colleague at the table.

"How many of the plans have you finished?" she asked her younger colleague.

"The first four years are ready."

"I think that is excellent progress. And I also think that now is a good time for tea and a snack. What about you?"

"I agree."

Babbling smiled and turned to Flitwick.

"What about you Filius, will you join us?"

"I will, thank you, Batsheba," said the Charms professor and turned back to the lesson plans he was studying. Babbling called a house elf, who listened to her order and after a short while returned with the required food and drink. Irene straightened her papers and Flitwick left his seat to join them at the table.

"Miss McAdams, I have noticed that you combine magical and muggle history. Is that your idea or is it something common in the United States?"

"Call me Irene, and yes, it is common in American wizarding academies to mix mundane and magical history. The widely accepted opinion, which I agree with, is that this way the students see how the events in the wizarding world influenced those in mundane world and vice versa. I would also say that they can easily notice some parallels between the two worlds and as a result they don't get too cocky because they have magic and the others do not."

"That is a good idea," nodded Babbling. "But from my experience I know that there are always a few people who will hold on to their convictions even if they are proven wrong."

"That is true," agreed Irene. "There are extremely conservative or even bigoted people in the States too, but luckily they are not in majority."

The three professors fell silent, enjoying their tea and cake. Babbling was the first to finish her snack. Putting her empty plate and cup back on the tray she turned to Irene and asked:

"Do you keep up with politics and foreign affairs of American wizarding world?"

"I do."

"One of my fellow rune masters wrote that there is a new American ICW representative. I know that Albus is always grumpy after an ICW meeting and rumour has it that he often had disagreements with the former American representative. Do you think that it will get any better?"

"I don't think so," answered the history teacher and continued: "I believe it will get worse. The new representative is not very fond of professor Dumbledore."

"He is conservative, then?" asked Flitwick.

"No, I would say he is the opposite," said Irene. "I believe his problem with the headmaster is the fact that professor Dumbledore is known to give not only second but third and even fourth chances to people who would benefit more from a strict punishment."

"I can understand that," conceded the Charms professor. His own opinion of the headmaster was very similar. "Well, I think I'll check my syllabi and booklist for the last time before submitting them. Have a nice day, ladies."

Flitwick stood up and moved to exit the staffroom, but before he made three steps, the door was thrown open by Minerva McGonnagal who was closely followed by Pomona Sprout. Just like Severus Snape before her, she was in the middle of a rant, but she wasn't cursing a student. The object of her ire was the headmaster himself.

"I told him thousand times that it was a bad idea and they were the worst sort of muggles, but no, Albus knows best and now look at the mess. Right now I want nothing more than to shove his wand up his-"

The deputy headmistress fell quiet when she noticed the three other people in the staffroom. She blushed in embarrassment, turned on her heel and almost ran out of the room, Pomona Sprout trotting behind her, trying to calm her. Babbling smiled fondly and shook her head at her colleague's antics, but Flitwick was thoughtful. Minerva had a hot temper, but it took something truly wrong or stupid to make her shout and rant. He had a feeling that they were about to be much shaken and he was correct.


	4. Harry's statement

**4th August, evening, Auror Office's interrogation room, Ministry of Magic**

_"I will listen to you without interruptions, Mr. Potter, but this time you have to tell me everything just as it happened, without downplaying or exaggerating anything."_

_ For a moment, Harry studied the witch's face. There was nothing mocking or malicious in her expression. The teen made his decision. He straightened in his seat, took a sip of the water and started to talk._

"My relatives and I don't get on well. We really hate each other. They like to punish me for everything that goes wrong in their house, even if they know that it couldn't have been my fault. They hate everything magical and especially witches and wizards. Petunia calls people like me freaks and Vernon's name for them is unnatural beasts or abominations. It has been going on as long as I can remember and there is more. When I still went to primary school, there had been a few times when I did accidental magic. When it happened, the Dursleys were furious and they locked me up without food. If they reacted like that when nothing happened to them or their things …"

Harry didn't finish the last sentence, but the four adults in the room understood what he wanted to tell them. Madame Bones gave him a long look, as if she was trying to ascertain that he was truthful. After a while she nodded, seeming satisfied.

"Mr. Potter, you do realize that this is another thing we need to deal with after we finish this business with your aunt and the names which came out of your wand?" she asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, ma'am" he said quietly.

"Rufus will now continue his questioning and after that we will look into possible places where you could stay at least until the end of the holidays," said Madame Bones and turned to Scrimgeour: "Rufus, go on."

Harry returned his attention back to the man who sat on the opposite side of the table. Scrimgeour shifted in his chair to a more comfortable position and spoke:

"You know what I want you to speak about, Mr. Potter. Tell me the reason for what happened today with your relatives."

"It was Marge's behaviour. She had been visiting for five days and every day she had some insult to say about my parents or me. The Dursleys are usually content when I do my chores and get out of their sight, but she wanted me to be nearby so she could watch me and sometimes order me around. Tonight at dinner she once again started to insult my parents to my face and when I didn't react, she got worse and as good as called my mother a whore and my father a good for nothing drunk. When she did that, it was the last straw," confessed Harry. After telling someone about the Dursleys and Marge, even if they were complete strangers, he felt a bit lighter and more at peace.

Madame Bones frowned, but Scrimgeour's expression remained emotionless as he asked his next question.

"What did you do immediately after the incident?"

"I ran out of the kitchen and into my room. I took a few things-"

Here Scrimgeour interrupted: "Would those things be your wand, the vault key and the invisibility cloak we found?"

"Yes, sir," answered Harry and continued: "When I got the things, I ran back downstairs and to the front door, but the neighbours were already there, so I returned to the house and tried the back entrance. I got out and went to the first place I could think of to hide."

"If you didn't hurt your relatives on purpose, why didn't you wait for the Ministry wizards to arrive?" queried Scrimgeour

"Well, I was afraid of Vernon's reaction. Before, he didn't beat me, only pushed me around or he sometimes cuffed me on the head, but I thought that what happened with Marge could push him too far."

"Did you have any other reason to run?"

"Yes. You see, last summer I got an official warning for performing a hovering charm that I didn't do. The letter said that if something like that happened again, I would be expelled and have my wand snapped. A year ago nobody came to find out what had really happened, so when I blew up Marge, I thought that I had a choice between being blamed and punished without a chance to tell my side of the story, or running away. So I ran away."

"I see," said the Head Auror slowly and exchanged a look with Madame Bones. "So here we have yet another thing to talk about when we are finished with tonight's business, so let's get on with it. What happened after you left the house?"

"I ended up in a tree near the playground at Magnolia crescent and tried to think about what to do next," said Harry. "Eventually the policemen came, but they didn't notice me. After that I saw something moving in the shadow and felt something, a spell I suppose, brush me. Mr. Perks and three others appeared and you know the rest."

Scrimgeour nodded and pocketed the dicta-quill and the parchment with the record of their interview. Perks approached with a small glass vial which his superior took and then pulled out his wand and pointed it at Harry. The teen instinctively tried to duck, almost overturning the chair he sat on and himself with it. The grey-haired Auror lowered his wand.

"Calm down, Mr. Potter," he said and in his voice could be heard a trace of irritation. "We would only like to extract your memory of the whole incident."

This didn't help Harry to get calmer. If anything, it just confused him and made him even more nervous. Once again, Madame Bones saved the situation.

"Mr. Potter, the memory would be a proof that what you say is true. When it is no longer needed, it can be returned back to your mind. Neither the extraction nor the return of memories hurt. Rufus will just place the tip of his wand against your temple and you'll need to concentrate on what happened tonight."

Harry took a calming breath and nodded. Scrimgeour once again lifted his wand and this time the memory extraction went well, but the teenager still thought that the sight of the silvery strand of _something_ being pulled from his head was slightly disturbing.

The Head Auror handed the filled and capped vial to Madame Bones, who nodded in thanks and turned to speak to Harry.

"Mr. Potter, Head Auror Scrimgeour and I will now go and see your memory. If it corresponds with the answers you have given us, you are out of trouble when it comes to Miss Dursley. However, there is still the matter of your wand and the warning you got last year."

Harry just nodded, feeling relieved. He still wasn't completely calm, after all, when he and Ron went down to the Chamber, they broke a lot of rules, but he was safely out of what he considered the worst situation. Madame Bones smiled at him encouragingly and exited the interrogation room with Rufus Scrimgeour in tow.

* * *

><p>Amelia and Rufus didn't say a word until they got to the DMLE director's office. Closing the door, Amelia checked if the various privacy charms were working properly. Satisfied, she turned to Scrimgeour:<p>

"Rufus, tomorrow, while I'm talking with Mafalda, have a small group of trustworthy people go through her filing cabinet. Finding Potter's file is a priority, but after they do it, have them read the other files and watch for similar cases – warnings sent out, but no attempt at investigation."

"I'll see to it first thing in the morning," agreed the aging Auror. "What about Potter? Sending him back to his relatives is out of question, but with Black at large he can't just stay at the Leaky Cauldron for the rest of the summer."

"I was thinking about begging Alastor for a favour," answered Amelia. Having Harry Potter stay with her old friend and mentor seemed like the best and safest option. Moody could be brutally honest, but he wasn't in the habit of deliberately insulting and humiliating others, and Potter could learn a lot from him. There was also the fact that the retired Auror had a wide variety of wards around his home. Amelia's sleep would be a lot more peaceful if Moody agreed to help.

Scrimgeour didn't protest. His superior's idea was sensible and he couldn't think of anything better himself. "Let us see the memory," he suggested.

Amelia stood up, walked to one of the cabinets in the office, unlocked one of the drawers and pulled out a pensieve. Setting it on her desk, she took the vial containing the memory and poured the silvery substance into the stone bowl. Together with Scrimgeour she lowered her face to the surface of the swirling liquid and got sucked in.

When the pair emerged, they both had disgusted expressions on their faces. Scrimgeour was the first to speak.

"If that is their normal behaviour, I'm surprised that the kid didn't have such outburst earlier. And the neighbours advancing as a crowd of Inferi – you really can't wonder why he panicked."

Amelia agreed wholeheartedly. She used her wand to return the memory back to the vial and after re-locking the drawer containing the pensieve sat at her desk and pulled out a form from one of the neatly stacked folders. She filled it out and added her signature and an official stamp.

"Mr. Potter is out of trouble," she announced. "I think it would be best if we sorted out the rest tomorrow afternoon, when all people concerned are fully awake and alert."

Once again, the Head Auror didn't object. He took the filled and signed form and walked back to the interrogation room to give it to the teen, while his boss talked to Alastor Moody. He hoped that the old Auror would agree to take the kid in at least for one night and save them all some trouble. Enough had happened today. He added some extremely uncharitable thoughts about Mafalda Hopkirk, Dolores Umbridge and Cornelius Fudge, before settling for mentally bemoaning the fact that things go always wrong just after the majority of Aurors and Obliviators who have day-shift went home and just before the night-shift has arrived, and just when there is nobody but those who habitually work late at the Ministry.

Nearing the interrogation room, he saw a silver fox _patronus_ float past him and towards his superior's office. The Head Auror got a bad feeling that this night was going to be very long.

**4****th**** August, evening, Hogwarts**

Slowly walking towards her quarters, Irene McAdams contemplated everything she had seen and heard that day. Not long after the Deputy Headmistress stormed in and out of the staffroom and Filius Flitwick went off to give his lesson plans and booklist one last check, she and Batsheba Babbling finished their snack and went their own ways, the Ancient Runes professor still pondering who or what could have made professor McGonnagal so angry.

The young History teacher did not doubt she would soon contemplate the same subject herself, but for now her thoughts returned to the moment when she found out exactly how behind in History the local students were. No wonder British wizards were often arrogant or bigoted if their History teacher constantly presented wizards as a race that is always in the right and if he accidentally held a lecture about the culture and customs of goblins or centaurs, then the lecture would be so boring that the students fall asleep.

Then her thoughts turned to her colleagues. Most of them were polite and pleasant people with whom she would enjoy working, but there were exceptions. First of them was professor Sinistra, who kept sending her disapproving glances, but Irene wouldn't get too upset about her – that was, she wouldn't get upset if the Astronomy professor wouldn't add disparaging remarks to her glares. If she did so, there would be a tongue-lashing reserved just for her.

The second exception was professor Snape, in whose presence she always felt wary. They hadn't been interacting much, apart from the occasional greeting, but she noticed him studying her just like her father's friend Charles Brown studied his potion ingredients immediately before cutting them into pieces. Then there were the vitriolic comments. None of them had been aimed at her yet, but it was clear that Snape was more than capable of being extremely nasty. Just as with Sinistra, Irene wouldn't start any verbal or physical attacks, but if the potions master did so, she would defend herself.

Upon reaching her quarters, Irene saw that a metal box on her desk was pulsating with blue light. She smiled and opened it, finding a letter from her father and others from her American friends inside. She put them to the side to be read after she finished her lesson plans. That way, she would have an inducement to work faster.

Irene's plan worked well. Not too much later she finished the plans for the last two years, stuffed them into a folder and started reading the letter from her father:

_Dear Irene,_

_Things in Northern America are beginning to get interesting – well, at least the things in the wizarding world. Two days ago I had dinner with Canadian ICW representative who ranted and raved about Britsh wizards and their "backwards, idiotic laws". Apparently, the head of his security detail and other two members are werewolves, and as you know, British laws discriminate against them, be they British or foreign citizens._

_ It also looks like Mr. Chalmers has either complained about the matter before without putting up privacy charms, which I doubt, or someone from his office talked to the press, because the day after we dined together, there had appeared a well-researched article about the problem. People both here and in Canada are already getting curious even though the real fun will start months later. At this rate I wouldn't be surprised if Wizarding Britain ends up with some sort of international supervision._

_ But enough about politics. How are you adapting to your new post? Did you already need some physical outlet for frustration? Write back soon and tell me about Hogwarts._

_Love, dad._

Irene put the letter on her desk and lost herself in thought. It seemed that she was about to witness first-hand the changes that would shake the foundations of a community which had been too set in its ways for too long, and if her father got involved in the business, she would cheer him on and help as she was able to.

**4****th**** August, evening, Ministry of Magic**

Auror John Dawlish longed to plop himself down in a comfortable armchair and sip a glass of Ogden's finest, but alas, there would probably be no rest for him today. He wanted to curse Fudge and the obliviators. Apparently, the minister for some reason decided to interfere in tonight's case, the muggle Aurors wouldn't allow it and arrested him. Then, the obliviators appeared out of nowhere, intending to start their job immediately, but the muggles liked it even less and it all ended with two snapped wands for the wizards and cuts and bruises on both sides. Dawlish thanked Merlin that Williamson somehow knew what to do, because if he hadn't…

The Auror interrupted his musings and nearly let out a stream of expletives. Two of the floos in the Atrium flared green. From one of them exited Albus Dumbledore, who immediately headed for the elevators, and Lucius Malfoy strode from the other, tossing his white blonde hair over his shoulder as he followed Dumbledore.

Dawlish didn't doubt that the two were here to stick their noses in Scrimgeour's and Bones' work. He also didn't doubt that both of his superiors would be furious if their subordinate saw the two wizards and sent no warning. He whipped out his wand and got his _patronus_ to tell Madame Bones that trouble was headed her way. With any luck she would get the message in time.

* * *

><p>Amelia Bones felt a wave of relief when Alastor Moody agreed to take Harry Potter in for the rest of the summer. He needed no convincing and Amelia could almost hear him thinking about what he would teach the teen.<p>

"I don't know how to thank you, Alastor," she said with a relieved sigh.

"A bottle of firewhiskey will be enough," quipped Moody.

The DMLE director smiled and said: "Seriously, Alastor, I owe you a favour."

But the old Auror would have none of it.

"You have enough on your plate and you'll have even more. I won't ask anything from you, except that one bottle."

"Very well then," surrendered Amelia. "I'll send the boy here right away."

Moody nodded and the DMLE head pulled her head out of the floo, only to notice that there was a _patronus_ floating in front of her desk. The silver fox spoke with the voice of John Dawlish:

"Madame, Dumbledore and Malfoy are heading for your office."

Amelia cursed. Having those two around was the last thing she needed right now. She gripped her wand and sent out her own _patronus_ with a message to Rufus Scrimgeour. Hopefully Potter would be safe at Moody's house when the two manipulators arrived.

* * *

><p>Head Auror Scrimgeour and Madame Bones had not been away long, but to Harry it seemed like hours. The interrogation room was quiet except for the occasional rustle of the remaining two Aurors' robes. The teen was still quite nervous. Yes, he had been told that he was out of the worst trouble, but he expected something else to go wrong, as it usually did.<p>

The door was opened and Scrimgeour entered, holding in his hand some kind of official document. He handed the parchment to Harry and said:

"It is now official that you didn't hurt your relatives intentionally, Mr. Potter. We are now looking for a place where you could stay until September and we will also contact Wizarding Child Protection Service. Oh, and one last thing – we recommend that you should look up and practice at least the basics of meditation and occlumency to prevent any more incidents."

At that moment a silver badger floated into the room and spoke in Madame Bones' voice:

"Moody agreed to help. Come to my office at once, two white haired menaces were spotted in the atrium."

Scrimgeour marched back to the door, motioning for Harry to follow him. The teen did so immediately. He didn't know who the "white haired menaces" were, but from the tone of Madame Bones' voice he figured that they were trouble.

The head Auror and the teen walked swiftly through the corridor, Harry almost running to keep up with Scrimgeour's longer strides. An intricately carved double door at the very end of the corridor opened and they could see Madame Bones standing on the threshold, urging them to go faster. They obeyed. Not half a minute later Harry found himself standing in front of a large fireplace in the DMLE head's office. The witch grabbed some floo powder from the mantel, threw it in the flames and as soon as they changed colour she stuffed Harry in and called:

"Moody's house. Vigilant and dead."

Harry realized that the second half of Madame Bones' statement must have been a password, before everything started spinning and he lost any inclination to think. After a while he felt the spinning slow and stumbled out of the floo into a simply furnished but still comfortable living room. He was greeted by a dangerous looking grey-haired man with a wooden leg and electrically blue magical glass eye, which constantly turned around in its socket.

"Name's Alastor Moody. You are stuck here for the rest of August, lad, so we'll make a good use of the time. Your room is upstairs, first door on the left and the bathroom is at the end of the hall. Be down in the kitchen tomorrow at seven. We start lessons just after breakfast."

Harry just nodded dumbly, too shocked to do something else and did as he was told. What had he just got himself into?


	5. A friendly chat with Mafalda

**Chapter 5**

**5****th**** August 1993, morning, Amelia Bones' home**

Amelia stretched and yawned as she tried to awake. Today would be a long day, but she was in a very good mood. Yesterday, just before Dumbledore and Malfoy got to her office, Rufus nearly stuffed her into her own floo and said that he would deal with the two. She would love to see the verbal battle between her Head Auror and Lucius Malfoy, probably with Dumbledore simultaneously trying to convince them that disputes are never helpful and attempting to make Rufus do the exactly same thing Malfoy wanted him to do – contact her and drag her back to the Ministry.

And today – today was going to be the day she would finally give Mafalda Hopkirk a long overdue reprimand. If the group of Aurors tasked with searching through the woman's filing cabinet found enough evidence, Amelia could even send Mafalda packing and give her job to somebody more competent and reliable. For the DMLE head it would mean more work, but Amelia had a good feeling about the whole matter. For a reason she couldn't really explain she felt that punishing or even sacking Mafalda would be the proverbial pebble that starts an avalanche. Smiling, she climbed out of her bed, done her morning routine and headed downstairs to have some breakfast with Susan. Her niece would depart immediately after for a holiday trip to Greece with Hannah Abbot and the McMillans and for two weeks this was their last opportunity to enjoy a meal and a chat.

When Amelia entered the dining area, Susan was already sitting at the table, pouring herself a glass of pumpkin juice.

"Good morning," said the girl with a smile. "How was your work yesterday?"

"Exhausting," answered Amelia. "But if everything goes well today, Mrs. Hopkirk will get what was coming to her."

"Is Mrs. Hopkirk the one who was loudly gossiping with the pink woman, I think you called her Umbridge, when we ran into them in Diagon Alley last summer?"

"She is. I won't go into details, but yesterday she made a colossal mistake which could have had very bad consequences and she will bear responsibility for it."

"Will I eventually get to know what exactly happened?"

"Probably not."

Susan nodded in understanding and started to systematically demolish her breakfast. While her niece was eating, Amelia thought about yesterday and asked the girl:

"Suzy, what can you tell me about Harry Potter's behaviour at school?"

Susan gave her a questioning look, but answered without any comments:

"He is not really close to anybody except Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley, although I don't know why Potter and Granger still talk to Weasley. He has no table manners and I have heard him call Granger mental."

"Perhaps it happened just that one time."

"I don't think so. They sometimes sit at the table in the Great Hall, Granger looking angry and upset, Weasley rolling his eyes and Potter sitting between them acting as a buffer."

"What about during classes? Did you have some subjects with the Gryffindors?"

"We've had Herbology together this year and we have History with them and the Ravenclaws and Slytherins. He usually just sits and does what the professor says. He never volunteers to answer a question and he also never asks any."

"Suzy, I know that you are in different houses, but had you noticed something odd about his behaviour this year?"

"Well, he kept to himself even more than he usually does, but if I think about it, I'm not really surprised," said Susan. The last part of the sentence had been said very quietly and the girl blushed. Amelia immediately noticed.

"It had something to do with the attacks, hadn't it?" she asked her niece.

Susan fidgeted in her seat and stammered:

"Well, in a way…"

Amelia quickly deduced what Susan was too ashamed to admit.

"And it had even more to do with the students' behaviour towards Mr. Potter."

The teenage girl's face was now completely crimson and she determinedly gazed at her fingernails, unable to look at her aunt.

"What exactly had been happening at Hogwarts, Suzy?"

Silence.

"Did you take part in some type of bullying?" asked Amelia sternly.

"No, but I didn't do much when Ernie taunted Potter about-"

"About what?"

"About being the heir of Slytherin," Susan almost whispered, her head still bowed.

"Or in other words he publicly claimed that he was guilty of attacking students without having any proof. How many others did the same thing?"

"Almost the whole school. Only the three youngest Weasleys and Hermione Granger didn't take all the rumours seriously."

Amelia's good mood was by this time completely gone. She would get Susan to tell her all she knew and if it appeared that Ernie's behaviour had been truly bad, she would have to contact his parents. She doubted anyone of the staff at Hogwarts would do so. The DMLE director continued with her questions:

"What did the teachers do to stop such behaviour?"

"Nothing."

"Did the prefects try to interfere?"

"I don't think so."

"Did the teachers find out who was causing the problems?"

"I don't really know. Only one day there was suddenly a pyjama party and Gryffindor had four hundred points more."

Amelia had one last question. "Suzy, you wrote that there were injured students. What exactly had happened to them?"

Susan looked at her aunt as if she was crazy. With a frown she said:

"Aunty, I have written to you that Justin Finch-Fletchley and the others were petrified and everyone thought that Slytherin's monster did it and Potter released it from the Chamber of Secrets."

Amelia sat up, her back ramrod straight.

"Muffy!"

A house elf dressed in a tea towel appeared with a pop.

"What can Muffy do for Mistress Amelia?"

"Bring me all the letters Miss Susan sent from Hogwarts this last year."

The house elf nodded and after a few moments appeared with a neat stack of letters bound by a ribbon. Amelia thanked the creature and started to go through the letters. After a while she sat up. Her body was rigid and there was an expression of hot fury on her face. She let out a few choice curses, for the moment forgetting that her niece was seated right across the table from her. She now suspected why she didn't remember what Susan wrote about the happenings at Hogwarts. A memory altering charm. It was the only possible conclusion. She had never been prone to ignoring or forgetting information about somebody harming others on purpose and her normal reaction to incidents such as these would be to send a group of Aurors to investigate. When she found who altered her memory…

"… I will skin them alive and give them to Rufus' dogs for a snack."

Susan blinked, confused and a little disturbed. She couldn't remember ever seeing her aunt so angry. The teen felt some curiosity, but she thought it better not to ask, or ask later. At that moment Muffy again popped into the room, announcing that Mr. McMillan had arrived to pick Susan up.

Amelia for a moment looked as if she was reluctant to let Susan go away. In the end she didn't withdraw her permission, but while they were saying their farewells, she warned Mr. McMillan that she would in all probability need to contact him again soon.

When Susan and her classmate's father left, the DMLE director flooed directly to her office. She was a bit late. Her assistant informed her that Hestia Jones and Nymphadora Tonks were waiting in the corridor with Mafalda Hopkirk. She smiled in a way that made the young assistant take a step back.

"Tell them to bring Mafalda in," ordered Amelia and seated herself in her comfortable armchair behind the desk.

**5****th**** August, Hogsmeade, near the Shrieking Shack**

Sirius Black transformed into Padfoot, intending to run to the backyard of the Hog's Head to beg Aberforth Dumbledore for some leftover food. The scraps which the pub's owner sometimes gave him were not particularly tasty – in fact, if Sirius had any other source of food, he would go and never return for more, but unfortunately he chose to hide in a fully magical village where the majority of its inhabitants used vanishing charms to dispose of their leftovers.

Sirius padded down the stairs and nudged the front door open with his paw. It opened with a loud creak. He intended to run down to the village, but he stopped. There was a new scent in the air. He lifted his head and sniffed. Yes, a human was nearby. The dog animagus fervently hoped that it was just one of the villagers and not an Auror.

Following the scent, he was led behind the dilapidated house, where the human scent was joined by a wonderful fragrance of a sandwich with chicken and vegetables. The sight that met the escaped prisoner's eyes confused him. The human who sat in the sun near his hidey-hole was not an Auror, but she was not a villager either. In fact, looking at her clothing he would say she was a muggle, but muggles couldn't see, much less enter Hogwarts or Hogsmeade.

His thoughts were interrupted when the dog took over. Sirius felt drool drip from his muzzle and he heard himself whine as he stared at the sandwich in the woman's hands. She startled and turned to see the source of the whining. Now, the human version of Sirius Black would be more interested in the woman, but Padfoot wanted the sandwich she was holding and he wanted it _now_. He whined again, louder than before, and added also sad eyes. The woman sighed, extracted some meat from the sandwich and threw it to him. He caught it, devoured it and begged her for more, but she shook her head.

"There will be no more. I have to eat, too, and despite what the students around the world think, teachers don't take nourishment from blood of their pupils, but from normal food."

That sentence caused Padfoot to retreat and Sirius to take over. A professor at Hogwarts? He was very glad he had followed the scent. He would try to look adorable and perhaps she would bring him food regularly and also say a few words about the happenings at Hogwarts – in the past he had seen quite a few people complaining to an animal about various matters. He approached her and nudged her hand with his nose. She gave him a half-amused and half-exasperated look.

"I said you'll get nothing more today. But I can ask the house elves in the kitchen for some scraps and bring them to you tomorrow."

"Woof!"

Yes! Mission accomplished.

**5****th**** August, Alastor Moody's home**

Harry Potter felt well rested for the first time this summer. He stretched lazily and opened his eyes. Suddenly, all laziness and sleepiness was gone. The room he had been sleeping in was completely unfamiliar. Memories of the day before rushed back. He had been caught by the Aurors, but they didn't snap his wand or expel him. He had been sent to a strange man's house and this man wanted to teach him some lessons.

Harry checked the time. It was half past six – the teenager remembered the instructions from the last night, washed, dressed in the clothes he wore the day before – somehow they were now clean – and headed downstairs. His host, Alastor Moody, if Harry remembered correctly, was already waiting. Unsure how to act around the older man, the teen decided that he couldn't go wrong with some common politeness and greeted the old Auror:

"Good morning sir, and thank you for allowing me to stay."

"Morning," said Moody in a raspy voice and continued: "You can thank me at the end of the holidays – that is if you'll still want to."

Harry frowned in confusion. Why would he not want to thank one of the people who had ensured that he wouldn't have to return back to the Dursleys for the rest of the summer? Moody at least partly guessed the teen's thoughts and said:

"When I said I'm going to give you some lessons, I haven't been talking only about theory. There are also going to be some practical exercises, and when I say practical, I don't mean sitting down and waving a wand. You'll certainly have sore muscles and bruises."

Harry's expression changed from confused to slightly apprehensive. Upon seeing it, Moody chuckled and calmed him down:

"Easy there. There will be nothing difficult today. I just need to cast some simple diagnostic charms to see how fit you are and then I have a list of questions I want you to answer, so I would know if they taught you anything useful at Hogwarts. We don't have time for more before Amelia arrives in the afternoon."

Harry was relieved. None of the things Moody described sounded particularly bad, well, apart from the meeting with Madame Bones and the Aurors. He had no problem with talking to the DMLE director, in fact, he appreciated that she asked for the reason for his actions and actually listened when he answered her. He had been much less comfortable with Rufus Scrimgeour. Moody's voice pulled him from his reverie.

"Eat before the food gets colds. You look like you need a few good meals."

Harry did as he was told. When both he and Moody finished their breakfast, the old Auror pulled a scroll of parchment from his pocket and handed them to the teen.

"Here are the questions. Answer them as best as you can. No books or notes allowed."

"Thank you," said Harry as he took the scroll and unrolled it. He read the first few questions and thought that this wouldn't be bad at all. Moody didn't want him to list obscure spells or potions or explain fine points of magical theory. With each question he asked him to think about non-traditional uses of the spells he already knew. A good example was question number two: _Is it possible to seriously harm an opponent with a tripping jinx? If so, how?_

A quill and an inkwell were placed on the table. Harry grabbed the writing implements, thought about the promise he gave himself back at Privet Drive and started to think and write his thoughts down as well as he could.

He was so engrossed in thinking about and writing down the answers to Moody's questions, that he didn't even notice Moody waving his wand in series of precise movements. He also didn't hear the old Auror mumble under his breath angrily, so he was quite startled when after putting down the quill and looking up he found Moody standing nearby with a sheet of parchment in his hand and both eyes focused on Harry's face. The teen was beginning to feel uncomfortable when his host finally spoke.

"The results I have here say clearly that you have been mistreated. If you hadn't already told Amelia, I suggest you do it today. She will need as complete information as possible if she is to get you away from your relatives permanently and you need to talk about the matter so you could one day leave it behind."

Harry nodded in understanding. He would tell Madame Bones everything. He felt this was his last chance to get away from the Dursleys, because if the DMLE director herself couldn't help him, who else could?

**5****th**** August, Amelia Bones' office**

Amelia watched Mafalda Hopkirk squirm as she sat in a chair across from the DMLE director. She didn't start reprimanding the short witch right away. No, she would let her stew in her own juice for a while. To an outsider it may have seemed a bit cruel, but Amelia believed it was just what Mafalda deserved. Even Jones and Tonks looked as if they approved.

Not following procedures wasn't Mafalda's only transgression. There was one other, which was equally bad. Mafalda like to pry in things that didn't concern her and if she found out something which could cause problems to whomever the target of her prying was, she quickly forwarded the information to Dolores Umbridge, who was quite talented at blackmailing and terrorizing of anyone who didn't suit her picture of a perfect Ministry worker.

After a short time of glowering Amelia deemed the witch in front of her scared enough and asked:

"Mafalda, you have recently made a number of errors even a nervous beginner wouldn't have made. In fact, if the beginner had been in your position, he or she would probably appreciate the job too much to allow such mistakes to happen."

Mafalda looked as if she wanted to object, but the DMLE director gestured that she should remain silent. Amelia continued:

"You've been working at the Ministry for quite a long time, haven't you? You should know that there are set times for socializing and refreshments. Furthermore, you have an assistant who could have watched the monitoring system yesterday and alert you that something unusual was going on. But what did you have her do instead? Sit in Dolores' office and wait on you as a substitute for a house elf."

Amelia's voice was beginning to get louder. She fell quiet for a moment and took a calming breath. She didn't usually shout at her subordinates – but then most of them didn't usually flaunt rules and brownnose to the minister and his undersecretary.

"Mafalda, when you finally looked at the monitoring system, did you inform Rufus, as you should? No, you had to run to people who shouldn't be involved in sorting out incidents like this. It all ended with the minister being arrested by the police-"

Amelia rolled her eyes at Mafalda's confused look.

"Muggle equivalent of Aurors, Mrs. Hopkirk. As I said, the minister was arrested by the police and there was also an altercation between the obliviators and some of the muggle policemen. An altercation, which could have been avoided, had the obliviators arrived earlier. They would have done so, but for the fact that they were informed about the incident after the muggles already got there. The wizarding world could have been exposed yesterday, because you had a coffee and a chat with Dolores Umbridge instead of doing your job."

Mafalda glared at her boss, but Amelia was unimpressed. The witch in front of her couldn't be intimidating no matter how hard she tried. And as for Umbridge seeking retribution for the firing or demoting of her acquaintance – well, even if Mafalda was important enough for Dolores to do such a thing, she wouldn't have an easy time of it. Amelia have never been one to preach water and drink wine – or enforcing laws while she violated them herself and she had always fiercely protected hers and her niece's privacy. Amelia turned to Mafalda and said one thing which made the witch look very scared indeed:

"Oh, and when I'm at the topic of doing your job as you should – my Aurors are going through your filing cabinet as we speak. I have received a statement that you have sent out warnings and made black marks in records without investigating what had really happened. Rufus chose a very efficient group for the task, so they should be finished just before lunch. You will wait with Jones and Tonks in the front room until they are done."

Amelia then nodded to the two women who brought Mafalda to her office and they led the short witch out. As they reached the door, the DMLE head called:

"Oh, and Mrs. Hopkirk, my assistant would appreciate if you didn't interrupt her work with any protests."

The only response to this was another glower. When the door was closed, Amelia pulled out the reports she didn't manage to read the day before and soon she was engrossed in them, not paying attention to anything else.

After an hour and a half passed, she was disturbed by a pop as a strange house elf in a dark blue uniform materialized in her office, clutching a clipboard and a letter. The DMLE director immediately noticed an official looking stamp on it.

"ICW representative Patrick McAdams sends a letter to you, Madame," squeaked the elf, placed the envelope on her desk and vanished with another quiet pop.

Amelia cast various detection charms on the letter. When she was sure there hadn't been placed any curses or poisons, she finally took it in her hand and opened it.

Apart from a sheet of thick paper with the emblem of American ICW representative there was also a book shrunken to the size of a muggle matchbox. Curious about what else apart from letters and documents would he send her, she enlarged the book. Amelia immediately recognized the collection of British magical laws and treaties and a letter. She knew that several ICW representatives had requested to be sent the thick tome and that somebody from Barty's department was handling the matter, but she couldn't think why the American official was writing to her if there was some problem. Well, she wouldn't know the reason until she read the letter.

Amelia once again performed detection charms. The letter was clear. She opened it and read:

_Dear Madame Bones,_

_You will probably think that this letter and my questions should have been addressed to Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore or to someone in the Department for international magical cooperation, and I shouldn't bother you. I agree wholeheartedly and I wouldn't interrupt your work, if the above mentioned people had been more cooperative. _

_ I have to admit some confusion when it comes to British laws about werewolves and vampires. There are some old treaties between your Ministry and these two groups which define their rights and duties. I have found nothing about the treaties ever being declared void, yet there are also some new laws from the last two decades which significantly decrease the rights and increase the duties of the two groups mentioned to the point of complete absurdity. I would be grateful for an explanation of the whole situation. _

_ The other matter I'd like to ask about is the Milan declaration. Upon its signing in 1988, every country which did so got five years to at least start changing some of their laws as dictated by the declaration. Wizarding Britain, represented by Supreme Mugwump Dumbledore, was one of the countries who signed the document. The five years are almost up and I have noticed no changes, but perhaps I have only overlooked something. Once again I ask you for explanation or for forwarding this request to somebody who can clarify these matters._

_Yours sincerely,_

_Patrick McAdams,_

_ICW representative for United States of America_

_We have the first candidate for getting in trouble with Malfoy and his ilk, _thought Amelia grimly. Then her temper flared up again. Once again, something important, which should have been done, was forgotten and to make things worse, a newly elected American official knew more about it than her. When she cooled down after a few minutes, she once again focused on the letter. The Milan declaration? As far as she could remember, there was no such document mentioned at the Wizengamot meetings, nor had Dumbledore or the Minister informed her that it existed. What was going on? This was another thing she would have to look into – but only after she finished the business with Harry Potter and Mafalda.

Amelia shrunk the book and locked it in one of her desk drawers together with the letter. She was about to return to the reports, when her assistant knocked on her door and poked her head in her office.

"Madame, Auror Williamson and three trainees are here to see you concerning Mrs. Hopkirk's filing cabinet."

Amelia's annoyance disappeared. "Send them in," she told her assistant and once again put the reports aside.

A few moments later the group of four entered, each carrying a folder filled with sheets of parchment and Williamson had one other, slimmer, tucked under his arm. When his superior expectantly lifted her eyebrows, he started talking:

"We have found Mr. Potter's file without many problems," he announced and placed it on the desk. Amelia took it and locked it in the same drawer as McAdams' letter. Williamson continued:

"We went through the filing cabinet and we have found cases where a warning had been issued but no investigation took place and then we have found records of coordinates and dates, which looked as if somebody tried to burn them, but had been unsuccessful. We have looked at them closer and sometimes there are up to seven records with the same coordinates."

Williamson pointed at one of the trainees, a tall black wizard with his hair in dreadlocks and said: "Johnson here compared the coordinates with a map and found out something very interesting. Those coordinates were always in an area where people related to some of the other department heads or Wizengamot members live. I'd like to point out these coordinates"-here the Auror indicated which coordinates he meant- "there are five records with them and they show a place somewhere in Wiltshire, which is definitely not near any muggle settlement."

"Good job, all of you," said Amelia with a smile. She now had more than enough evidence to support the sacking of Mafalda Hopkirk and some more information besides. She turned to trainee Johnson and asked:

"Johnson, do you have a list of the places you've found?"

"Yes, ma'am, said the young wizard and handed it over.

Amelia thanked him and dismissed the quartet. When the door closed behind the last trainee, she sat back and contemplated the information she had just received. If some of the ICW members saw it, the information could be a start of a more thorough investigation. In other words, it could be the first layer of snow which covered the pebble that started an avalanche. She would keep the information very safe – and she would reinforce her occlumency shields so that nobody would ever mess with her mind again.


	6. Further revelations

**Chapter 6**

**5****th**** August, early afternoon, Alastor Moody's house**

The flames in the living room fireplace turned green and after a moment Madame Bones stepped out. The house's owner and his guest looked up from Harry's answers to Moody's questions and greeted her. The witch returned the greeting and asked Harry:

"Are you ready to tell me what happened last summer at your relative's house and later at Hogwarts?"

"Yes, ma'am."

The DMLE director then turned to Moody and said:

"Alastor, it would be best if there were another witness to Mr. Potter's statement. Can Kingsley join us, or shall I take Mr. Potter to the Ministry?"

"Let Shacklebolt come," answered Moody.

Soon after that, the tall black Auror stood in front of the fireplace, dusting off his robes, while Madame Bones pulled out a sheet of parchment and a dicta-quill and Moody motioned for the newcomer to sit. Then the first question came.

"Mr. Potter, you said that last year you got a warning from Mrs. Hopkirk's office for underage magic, but the actual culprit was a house elf. How is it possible that a house elf had been in your relative's house if they are muggles?" asked Madame Bones.

Harry still couldn't quite believe that an adult truly wanted to hear what he had to say and was prepared to take his words seriously. He sent a quick prayer to any entity who was listening that his assessment of the DMLE director's intentions was correct and after a short deliberation started talking about one of the strangest and most unpleasant days in his life.

"The Dursleys invited some rich businessman and his wife over for dinner and told me to go to my room and stay there. When I got inside, Dobby, the house elf who did the hovering charm, was already sitting on the bed. He told me that I couldn't return to Hogwarts, because it would be too dangerous."

"Did you try to find out why?"

"Yes, but every time Dobby was about to say something, he started to punish himself."

"What happened next?"

"He pulled out a bundle of letters from my friends and said that if I promised him not to return to Hogwarts, he would give me those letters. I said I couldn't promise him that-"

The teen was interrupted by Moody's snort and a question:

"Why on Earth have you said that? You could have told him what he wanted to hear, have the letters and return to school without any problems."

Harry blushed in embarrassment and irritation. It just wasn't in his nature to break any promise, no matter how trivial and no matter if it had been given to Albus Dumbledore or a house elf. Also, a situation where one has a strange over-excitable creature in their room, while the bad tempered uncle hell bent on punishing them for the smallest thing is just a staircase and hall away, is not conducive to thinking straight. Madame Bones and Auror Shacklebolt seemed to have similar opinion on Moody's question, because the black wizard lifted his eyebrows and the witch sent her old friend a reproachful look while she continued with her queries.

"Mr. Potter, what happened after you refused to give the house elf the requested promise?"

"He ran out of the room and into the kitchen. I tried to catch him, but he was too fast. He levitated a big cake which Petunia made as a desert for their guests and dropped it on the floor. Then he disappeared and I didn't see him until after Colin Creevey got attacked."

"Had a wizard or witch from the Ministry arrived to see what happened?"

"No. Only an owl flew in with the warning."

Madame Bones nodded and waved her wand to stop the dicta-quill. Then she proceeded to set up another one, positioned on a clean sheet of parchment. When she was done, she looked at Harry, a grave expression on her face.

"Mr. Potter, now I'm going to ask you about the Dursley's reactions to the incident. I implore you to give answers which are as truthful and detailed as possible. If there is a mention of any mistreatment, the second parchment will go to the Wizarding Child Protective Service. Are you ready to continue?"

Harry didn't reply right away. He didn't like the image of more strangers reading about the Dursleys and his inability to defend himself, but the same sarcastic voice which had stopped him from running when he saw the Aurors arrive at Magnolia Crescent now urged him to talk. He reminded himself that this was probably the best chance to get away from the Dursleys he would ever get. He took a deep breath and answered the DMLE director's question.

"Yes, ma'am, I'm ready."

"I'm glad to hear it," said Madame Bones and started a new series of queries.

* * *

><p>Amelia saw that the teenager in front of her had no problems to talk about what happened with the house elf, but when it came to his interactions with his relatives, he became quite nervous and reluctant to share what had been going on. It reminded her of Susan's behaviour when she was ashamed for some of her actions – or inactions. The boy told her he was ready to answer her questions, but it was clear that he was far from comfortable. She could only think about one way to put him at ease.<p>

"Mr. Potter, nobody in this room will mock you or make light of your experiences. As to the people from the WCPS, they swear a wizard's oath to be discrete when they start their job. So far there have been no problems with information leaks from their office."

Apparently, this was the right thing to say. Although he didn't relax completely, the boy was now noticeably less tense than before. Amelia asked her first question about the Dursleys:

"What did your relatives do immediately after the warning arrived?"

"Vernon got angry because I didn't tell them that we aren't allowed to do magic out of school and locked all my things in the cupboard under the stairs. Then he had me clean the mess in the kitchen and when I was done, he locked me in my room."

"Was that all he did?"

"No. The next day he put locks and cat flap on my door and paid a locksmith to put bars on my window."

"Did your aunt say anything against it?"

"No. She never does," said the teenager sadly.

Amelia wanted to give him a reassuring one-armed hug, or at least a squeeze of the shoulder, but she refrained from it. The boy would probably take it as too familiar behaviour and any trust she gained would be diminished or even gone. Plus, it wasn't professional. So she just sent him a sympathetic glance and asked another question.

"What was the cat-flap used for?"

"They put my meals through it," answered the teen quietly, his cheeks once again turning red, this time only in embarrassment.

Amelia realized the full implications of the last answer almost instantly and they made her disgusted with the boy's relatives. She needed to confirm or refute her assumptions, but how to do it without making the teenager even more embarrassed? In the end it wasn't very difficult.

"Mr. Potter, how often did they let you out?"

"Twice a day, in the morning and in the evening, to use the bathroom."

"And how often did you get something to eat?"

"Once a day."

The DMLE director felt a little relieved when the teen confirmed that he was allowed to use the bathroom, but she got very angry when she heard the answer to the last question. Before she had time to say or do anything, Alastor Moody added his own observations.

"They have repeated it all this summer, didn't they?" he growled, both eyes focused on the teen. "That would explain the results of the diagnostic spell."

The boy nodded and added: "This summer they didn't lock me up so often, but they _did_ give me almost no food."

Hearing Moody's question, Amelia wanted to kick herself. She should have thought about a diagnostic spell yesterday. Before she could start going through her mental list of trustworthy and discreet healers who could do more detailed scan, Moody spoke again, still addressing his young guest.

"Out with it, Potter. You look like you have a lot of questions."

"I was just wondering… if you could see that the Dursleys didn't give me enough food after you did just one spell, why didn't Madame Pomfrey notice anything? I have been in the infirmary overnight both last year and the year before."

"You have been there with something like broken bones or spell accidents, am I correct?" asked the retired Auror.

"Yes, sir."

"Then it is clear to me. There are two types of basic diagnostic charms, the first one is for any immediate injuries and the second one is for the general state of your health. She probably did just the first one."

Amelia saw the teen nod, but he didn't seem to be quite content with the answer he got. He frowned in confusion. Then his face straightened and he looked uncertainly from her to Moody, nervously fidgeting with his hands. She took pity on him and asked:

"Is there something else you want to say about your time in the infirmary or Madame Pomfrey's behaviour?"

"Actually, yes," said the teen. "At the end of the first year I had to stay in the infirmary several days. You could say it was a spell injury. Professor Dumbledore said that it had almost killed me. Wouldn't that be a reason to do both of the diagnostic spells, just to see that I wouldn't have any long-time problems?"

Potter had a point and Amelia admitted it. "You are right about that, Mr. Potter. It would also be a reason to have you checked by a fully qualified healer. And I can also see that your second year wasn't the only time when suspicious things happened. I want you to finish telling me about everything that was going on last year and then we'll look at the year before."

She received an agreeing nod and the teenager now talked without any hesitation on his side and with only an occasional question from the three adults in the room and didn't finish speaking before mid-afternoon. Amelia grew more and more displeased with each sentence. The year before, Dumbledore clearly realized that one of the teachers behaved suspiciously and instead of contacting the DMLE, he had another teacher keep an eye on the suspect and this teacher also didn't do what he should have done. Then, last year a dark object got in the school without being detected by the wards. Well, at least she hoped there had been a problem with the wards, because she really didn't want to think about the other possibility.

There have been several students petrified and none of the teachers thought about closing the school until after one child had been kidnapped and presumed dead. Susan's account of all year long bullying without any authority figure at least trying to stop it was also confirmed. Acromantula colony in the forest. Trolls roaming the corridors and a Cerberus separated from the children only by a door which could be opened by a first year spell. What was wrong with the headmaster and the staff?

Amelia took a calming breath and thanked Merlin that Susan hadn't been injured or worse. When she was extracting Potter's memories of the events, Kingsley concluded the whole conversation with his own opinion about all the happenings at Hogwarts:

"If the members of the board of governors had known all this, Malfoy wouldn't have needed to threaten and bribe them last year. Dumbledore would have been sacked right away."

To this, Amelia could only nod.

**5****th**** August, lunchtime, Great Hall, Hogwarts**

Irene McAdams returned to the castle feeling fresh and energized after her exploration of Hogsmeade. The village had been lovely and very peaceful and around the Shrieking shack it was, ironically, particularly quiet. The local legends said that it was one of the most haunted places in Great Britain, but she hadn't felt the presence of anything sinister. The detection spell she performed just to be safe had had negative results, too. In fact, she very much enjoyed the quiet and the clean, fragrant air. Her walk definitely helped to chase away the slight headache and the foggy feeling in her mind, which had been plaguing her last few days.

She took a deep breath. The scent of the food was heavenly and she was once again hungry, so she headed for her usual place at the staff table. All of the staff who were at the moment present at Hogwarts were already there, apart from Severus Snape and Poppy Pomfrey. Batsheba Babbling greeted her with a smile and a query:

"How did you like the surroundings, Irene?"

"They are beautiful and very peaceful. When I went through the practical portion of my education in America, the school had been near the centre of a big city and I missed having such places nearby, so I really appreciate that Hogwarts castle is far away from any big communities."

"You're not the only one here who does so," remarked Silvanus Kettleburn. "And speaking about the surroundings – I don't know if anyone had warned you, but you'd better avoid the forest, or if you ever really have to go inside, keep to the edge."

"Silvanus is right," said Babbling. "If you for any reason need to go further than the edge, ask Hagrid to accompany you. Both the centaurs and the animals know him and don't attack him. But enough about that. How is your orientation in the corridors?"

"It's slowly improving," answered Irene. "By the way, where do you keep older records about the students?"

The Ancient Runes professor gave her a curious look.

"Why do you ask?"

"My father's parents were British witch and wizard, I'd like to know more about them and the archive here seems like a good place to start some research."

Babbling nodded, accepting the answer.

"It's possible that Minerva or I have gone to school with your grandparents. Do you know who are you looking for?"

"Yes, I'm looking for Livia Rosier and Thomas Riddle."

That last sentence caused various reactions. Babbling lifted her eyebrows in astonishment, Minerva McGonnagal nearly choked on tea and was now coughing violently and Hagrid, who was sitting on the other side of the table, gave her an apprehensive look. Apparently, there had been something strange about one or both of her father's parents, but what?

Batsheba Babbling was the first to come to her senses and it was her who answered the unasked question:

"Minerva, Hagrid and I went to school with both of them, in fact, Tom Riddle was in Minerva's year and Livia Rosier was a year above that, I think."

"She was two years older," corrected the Deputy Headmistress.

Babbling nodded, conceding the point and continued:

"Livia had been the typical solid E student and a pretty girl from well to do pureblood family, but Tom was different. He was a Slytherin, right Minerva?"

The Transfiguration teacher nodded and Babbling went on:

"As I said, he was a Slytherin student, Prefect, then a Head Boy, constantly top of the class, extremely handsome, always neat and tidy, and a favourite student of almost all of the teachers, but I don't remember him having any close friends. Do you, Minerva?" Babbling asked the Transfiguration teacher.

"No, I don't," answered McGonnagal. "He always kept everyone at arm's length, but he did have many admirers and there were just as many who were afraid of him and those who disliked him and called him, what was the term - goody-two-shoes."

"Thank you, Minerva," said the Ancient Runes professor and turned back to Irene:

"Anyway, the archive is just next to the library. Irma Pince has the keys. If you mention that you are looking for your family history, she should let you in without any fuss."

"Thank you both for all the information," said Irene to her two older colleagues.

None of them noticed that the headmaster, who was also present, had been listening in while they talked and that he was now trying to find a way to ascertain that the new History teacher had not inherited any of his former student's propensities towards anger, violence and revenge, and also a way to find out who Irene's father was and whether he was just a perfectly sane man or a potential threat.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

**12****th**** August, Malfoy Manor**

Lucius Malfoy angrily slammed his fist to his desk.

"Damn it all," he growled.

He definitely wasn't pleased with the way things have gone since fourth August. At first, the situation seemed perfect, there had been a chance for him to get Dumbledore's poster boy out of the wizarding world for good, and threaten Amelia Bones – he wouldn't push for her being sacked for lackadaisical execution of her duties, which nearly resulted in their world being exposed to muggles, and she in turn would do a few favours for him.

But all went to hell as soon as he got out of the floo at the Ministry. He had caught a glimpse of Dumbledore in one of the elevators, who undoubtedly came to get the boy wonder out of trouble. That had meant one of his schemes had been thwarted. It annoyed him, but Lucius hadn't been too upset about that, other opportunities to destroy Potter's reputation were bound to appear.

Then he arrived at Bones' office. Instead of the DMLE director he met the Head Auror and Albus Dumbledore, who were engaged in an argument. The old headmaster tried to convince Scrimgeour to get Bones back to the Ministry, or at least give him some information, but the Head Auror was repeatedly refusing. During the few minutes when Lucius stood at the door unnoticed, he witnessed Dumbledore trying the kindly grandfather's face, sadness and disappointment and finally the Chief Warlock, whose face was composed, but with anger bubbling just under surface.

Scrimgeour had been unmoved and almost started to snicker at the old mage's frustration. Lucius would have been quite amused, too, had he not been so impatient to put his plan in motion before it could occur to anyone to look for the real culprit of the whole mess.

But even the second part of his scheme didn't work out. Dumbledore had not listened to any hints to get out and kept interrupting any conversation the Malfoy patriarch tried to have with the stubborn DMLE official. Scrimgeour kept repeating that his department had everything in hand and yes, one of the incidents had been caused by the incompetence of a member of DMLE, but said person was _definitely not _Amelia Bones. The Head Auror then had the gall to threaten both of his visitors with charges of obstruction of investigation.

In the end, he wasn't charged with anything, but they _did_ ask him to come to the ministry to answer a few questions concerning the temporary suspension of Albus Dumbledore and the happenings at Hogwarts. That matter was dangerously close to the business with the enchanted diary and the Weasley girl. If Bones got her hands on Dobby-the-bloody-bat-eared-pest …

He glared balefully at a letter laying on his desk. Perhaps Narcissa would have an idea what to do. Giving the letter one last glare, he stood up and went to search for his wife.

When he found her, she was deep in thought, a forgotten letter laying in her lap.

"Narcissa?"

She didn't react. Lucius came closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. Startled, she jerked and frowned, but she softened her expression when she saw the worried look on his face. He sat down next to her and she took his hand.

"What is troubling you, Lucius?" she asked.

He told her everything and she listened without any interruption. When he stopped talking, she was lost in thought. While he was waiting for her answer, he sneaked a look at the letter in her lap. It was written on pristine white and thick paper, rather than on parchment. The handwriting was neat, but unfamiliar.

Narcissa shifted in her seat and turned back to him.

"When you met Dumbledore and Potter in June, what did the boy say to you? Was it 'I saw you slip the diary to Ginevra Weasley' or 'I think you gave the diary to Ginevra Weasley'?"

"The latter. But Dumbledore behaved as if he had some information, too."

"No doubt from performing Legillimency without permission. That is not usable as evidence."

"You are probably right. But what about Dobby? What if Bones had got to him?"

"A minor unpleasantness. Not even Augusta Longbottom and Barty Crouch would consider the testimony of a house elf, who betrays his master's secrets, trustworthy."

"So you think that for now we should just wait and observe?"

"Yes. It will be best if you go to the Ministry, answer their questions and play the role of a worried parent. And while you are there, under no circumstances repeat what you did on the fourth."

* * *

><p><strong>12<strong>**th**** August,**** mid-morning, ****the****Shrieking Shack**

Sirius was having a wonderful week. His plan was working well, perhaps even better than he imagined. The new teacher brought him good food daily, so he had finally been able to leave behind Aberforth's horrendous cooking, but he also got a scratch behind the ears and a few words. It was true that the young woman hadn't said anything too important, but for now he didn't care. Just the sound of calm, sane speech was enough. It helped him to clear his thoughts. His anger and hatred towards Peter Pettigrew had not diminished, but he wasn't controlled by it anymore. And speaking of his benefactor, there she was, coming up the hill. He transformed into Padfoot and sprinted down the stairs and out of the front door.

"Woof!" he greeted her when she approached.

"Hello, boy."

She smiled, scratched her ears and unshrunk a plate filled with leftovers. He devoured them in a few moments and then plopped himself down on her feet. The woman sighed, half exasperated and half amused and sat down on the lawn. He immediately lifted himself from her feet, made a few more steps and laid down again, this time with his head in her lap. She once again scratched her ears and petted his head, and then she started talking.

"You know how I said that there are strange things happening everywhere, like the headmaster constantly running to and from London, deputy headmistress slowly, but surely becoming furious with him and also the constant headaches and fogged mind?"

"Woof."

"Well, that was nothing compared to what happened yesterday and the day before. Apparently, out of nowhere a quite important ministry official had been sacked and some wealthy and influential aristocrat had been summoned for questioning in front of the Wizengamot. And you still haven't heard everything."

Padfoot whined softly, trying to sound questioning. The woman gave him another scratch behind the ears and continued:

"The strangest thing these days has been Snape's behaviour after we got to know the name of the new DADA teacher. When Minerva McGonnagal announced it, he stalked out of the staffroom and slammed the door so strongly that dust fell from the ceiling and the next day he kept making comments about murderers, their wimpy sidekicks and having unwanted extra duties because of the headmaster's precious Gryffindors. That was his second temper tantrum I have witnessed, and I'm already getting tired of it. If he does it a few more times, I swear I'll slam _him_ to the door."

She didn't say much more and spent the next quarter of an hour in thought, occasionally petting his head or rubbing his back. Sirius thought about everything she told him. Clearly, there was something happening in the Ministry, but he would need more details to deduce what exactly was going on.

He turned his thoughts to the last part of her narrative. His guess as to her position at Hogwarts had been clearly wrong, but he didn't try to figure out which subject she taught, rather, he focused on her description of Snape's behaviour – and also on recovering from the shock he suffered when he realised that Snape was free and very much able to hurt his godson.

So the hook-nosed git had a grudge towards the new DADA teacher, who was a former Gryffindor? Sirius immediately thought about one man who would fit the description, but it was unlikely that Remus would get the position. He didn't doubt his former friend's abilities, but he imagined that the board of governors would put up a very loud protest.

The woman nudged him off her lap and he whined, sending her a sad look. He didn't want to give up the company of a friendly, and more importantly sane and calm human, but she wasn't moved.

"I have been sitting here long enough and I still have some quite important things to do. See you later."

* * *

><p><strong>12<strong>**th**** August, around noon, Little Hangleton**

Irene looked around as she got off the local train. The first houses of the village of Little Hangleton stood quite near the small train station and an asphalt road led away from it and to a small square with a war memorial and a few flowerbeds. Further away there could be seen a hill where a stately looking manor house stood.

Searching through the old records about former students and later through old issues of _Daily Prophet_ in the library had proved to be a good idea. According to those dusty documents and yellowing newspaper, this village was a place where her father's grandparents lived and she was very eager to look at it closely.

A growl from her stomach disturbed her musings. Checking the time, she was surprised that it was lunchtime already. Irene started to walk towards the village at a brisk pace. She hoped that there was some pub or similar establishment. She could get a good lunch and perhaps she would come across some of the locals who were old enough to meet and interact with Tom Riddle Sr. and Merope Gaunt, the parents of Tom Marvolo Riddle, who, in her opinion, had been an individual with tremendously bad luck.

She once again went over everything she found out about him. One parent dead and the other not knowing about his existence. Growing up in an orphanage and spending his summers listening for sirens announcing bombings, because the orphanage had been overlooked during the evacuation.

Before long, she got to the little square. The village _did_ have a pub, named The Hangman. Several tables stood outside under big parasols, one of them taken by a small group of old men, who nodded a greeting at her. When she ordered her lunch, the waiter made a small talk.

"What brings, you here, ma'am?"

"I have been told that some of my ancestors used to live here and I wanted to see the place with my own eyes."

This had been overheard by one of the elderly locals, who immediately joined the conversation.

"And who would your ancestors be? Bill here has probably met them at some point and he knows everything there is to know about Little Hangleton."

"The Riddles and the Gaunts," answered Irene without any hesitation. The man named Bill snorted incredulously.

"So the stuck up Tom Riddle actually ran away with the Gaunt girl because he'd had a thing for her and not because she held a knife to his throat?"

"Why does it seem so impossible, sir?" asked the young teacher curiously.

"Well, it is like fish marrying a bird. You see, miss, the Riddles were landed gentry and old money. Proud of it too. The Gaunts on the other hand… well, _those_ were the local vagrants and cranks. Lived in a shack behind the hill," said the man and pointed in the general direction.

"Violent, too," added the old man who'd asked Irene about the names of her relatives. Bill nodded in agreement.

"Right you are, Jim. Crude and violent, all right, the bunch of them. Or at least the father and the son. I don't know what the daughter was like, nobody had ever seen much of her. The son, Martin-"

"Morphin," interrupted Jim. "I'm sure that was his name. I remember it, because we used to joke about it. Half the time in a fit of rage, the other half in a lethargy, as if he'd got too much morphine."

Bill glared at Jim, who returned it. Irene decided that now would be a good time to interfere. She turned to Bill.

"Sir?"

He stopped glaring at his neighbour and turned to her.

"Yes, miss?"

"You were saying something about the Gaunts' son?"

"Yes. The son, _Morphin_, loved to target Tom Riddle. You can probably imagine that it did not help the relations between them. Always looked down their noses at each other, they did. But I really don't know what the Gaunts had been so proud about."

Here Jim interfered once again:

"You said yourself that they were soft in the attic. I'd bet they thought themselves some kind of nobility."

Irene was inclined to agree with Jim. From what she had seen, heard and read so far, it seemed that feelings of superiority or even delusions of grandeur were something typical to the most conservative British pureblood wizards – and by all accounts, the Gaunts had been far over the line between conservative and bigoted.

Irene returned her thoughts to the present and asked another question:

"If the families disliked each other so much, how is it possible that the Riddles' son had ran away with the Gaunts' daughter?"

"Nobody knows, miss," said Jim. "One day the Riddles' maid just appeared here and told the whole room that the two had disappeared together."

"Bloody gossip, that one," grumbled Bill. "That hadn't been the first time she did so. Nor the last. I well remember it was her who barged in here, screaming that all three Riddles were dead and later she told us that Frank had been arrested."

Irene tried to piece together a possible sequence of events from everything she'd heard. So far it looked that Tom Riddle Sr. had ran away with Merope Gaunt, but for some reason returned home and sometime after that he and his parents had been murdered. She turned to Bill and asked:

"Excuse me, but who is Frank?"

"Frank Bryce. He's been a caretaker at the manor house since he came back from the war. Back then, we all thought that he killed them all, but he said he hadn't done it. Kept talking about seeing a strange dark haired boy, but no-one would believe him."

Irene nodded absentmindedly, a new thought forming in her mind.

"Is Mr. Bryce still alive?" she queried.

"Aye," answered the old man. "But he doesn't like local people much and strangers even less. I wouldn't go asking him for information. He'll just shake his cane at you and try to shoo you away."

There hadn't been much more conversation afterwards and soon Irene paid for her lunch, took leave of the locals and set out for Riddle Manor. She was determined to at least try to talk to Frank Bryce, despite what had the pub's patrons told her.

The journey had been pleasant at first, but as she neared the manor house, the surroundings started to get a little depressing. The neat and tidy gardens and the small, well-kept caretaker's house contrasted sharply with the rusting wrought iron gate and the dilapidated main house. The old building, which seemed so stately from a long distance, had its walls covered in ivy and many of the windows were broken. Some of the window shutters either hung on just one hinge or were torn away completely. One of the chimneys had almost fallen apart and parts of beams could be seen in places where the roof tiles were missing. All in all it was a sad sight.

An old man, who had been up until then trimming one of the hedges, interrupted his work and gave the newcomer a suspicious glare.

"Who are you and what do you want?" he asked, his croaky voice practically dripping with hostility.

"My name is Irene McAdams. I presume you are Mr. Bryce?"

"That's right. What do you want with me?"

"I'd like to ask about the Riddle family-"

"Well, they'll tell you all you want to hear down in the village," grumbled the caretaker and made to return back to his work. Irene stopped him.

"Mr. Bryce, wait. I don't doubt that the people in village would be willing to talk, but I'd also like to hear about your opinions and memories. I assume you have been working here for a long time?"

Bryce slowly nodded, still looking very suspicious. Irene continued:

"What were the Riddles like?"

The old caretaker took a moment to sort out his thoughts. After a while he spoke:

"They probably told you all manner of bad things about them, but I say that there had been many a worse master than old Mr. Riddle and Master Tom. My wages have never been late when they still lived and they never took out their anger on me or the maid and cook, which is more than others could say. They also never did anything scandalous, that is until the young master disappeared with the vagrant's daughter. I'll eat my pruning scissors if she hadn't slipped some strange herbs to master Tom."

"So you believe that the whole thing had been Miss Gaunt's idea?"

"Aye. Master Tom had been perfectly happy with Miss Cecilia, a proper young lady, not like that mousy thing who probably didn't even know how to read and write. Didn't know how to wash herself, too. It was the Gaunts' fault, alright. Crackpots the lot of them. Queer things used to happen near the hovel where they lived."

Irene had a fair idea what could have been the cause of the "queer things" and that all of them had probably been quite unpleasant, but she asked Mr. Bryce for clarification anyway.

"Mostly people getting injuries and illnesses that just wouldn't get better. Every time something like that happened, there also appeared some people who looked just as crazy as the Gaunts. There was one in swimsuit and tailcoat and another man in a suit, woman's shoes with high heels and a corset with garters over the suit.

Anyway, avoiding the Gaunt's shack has ever been the smart thing to do. If I think about it, it's still the smart thing to do."

"There are strange things still happening?" asked Irene.

"There are," answered the old man with a decisive nod. "They had got worse after the '44. And I'd say that they'll continue to happen. Even the most brazen kids don't go near the shack and if _you _were thinking about it, forget about it and march back to the train station. Good day," grumbled Frank Bryce, turned his back on her and resumed his work.

The young history teacher left the manor's grounds, but instead of returning to the village and eventually to the train station, she headed away from the main road and towards the Gaunt shack. After an hour of brisk walking she finally saw the old dilapidated house. The roof had long since caved in and one of the ivy-covered walls was half-demolished.

As she neared the dilapidated building, the first enchantments took effect. At first, Irene didn't sense any danger. She only had the same feeling as during her childhood, when her father used to amuse her with some simple spells and his magic gave off comforting warmth and feeling of calmness.

When she re-started her logical mind and observational skills, and realized that the enchantments around her were definitely not her father's and that there were strange, disharmonic undertones in them, similar to the smell of an unwashed body covered with a perfume, it was late. She abruptly turned around, trying to go away and contact the DMLE, her colleagues, anybody… but as she made the first step, she was suddenly assaulted by a debilitating headache, nausea and muscle pain. Still, she attempted to go on.

But whoever placed the enchantment or ward there, didn't intend for any intruders to return home. When Irene made another step, the air suddenly shimmered and she was flung several meters in the direction of the shack. The headache and nausea were replaced by knocked-out breath, scrapes and several nasty bruises. It was sheer luck that she had no broken bones.

For several moments she laid without moving, trying to catch her breath. When she finally managed to stand up, the same invisible force as before started to push her towards the shack. When she got to the door, she attempted to hold on to it, but in vain. No matter how hard she tried to get away, her body was slowly, but surely being pushed towards the centre of the shack, where she could see a circle of glowing runes drawn on the floor and some kind of dried dark substance was splattered over them. Two bundles of what looked like old branches were laying near the runic circle.

As Irene got closer and had a better view of the bundles, her fear turned into outright terror. They were not piles of branches. They were human bones. This realization was followed by another, equally horrifying. The dark brown substance had to be dried blood. She was now about half a meter from the circle. The runes started glowing more brightly, as if waiting for a new coating of blood, and she felt as if a gigantic fist was squeezing her body.

She doubled her efforts to get away, but her struggle only caused her to lose her footing and fall face first to the runic circle. Instinctively, her hands shot out to break her fall, and this simple action in all probability saved her life. The moment her scraped, bloodied hands touched the runes, the squeezing stopped and the force pushing her forward eased. The headache and nausea were still there, but now there finally was a chance to get away and Irene grabbed it with both hands, thanking any deity who listened for the similar magical signatures in blood relatives.

Walking back to the edge of the wards surrounding the shack was like trying to pass through neck-deep, icy cold water. Irene's muscles felt as if they were on fire and her breath was short. The distance she had to traverse seemed infinite, but she continued through sheer stubbornness and in the end managed to get free of the wards. She was totally exhausted. Cold sweat was running down her back, there were spots dancing in front of her eyes and her ears were ringing. She wanted to continue back to the village, but every ounce of her strength had been spent. The dancing spots turned into a pitch black wall and Irene McAdams knew no more.

* * *

><p><strong>12<strong>**th**** August, evening, Hogwarts**

Albus Dumbledore was in the process of contemplating the special Wizengamot session which had been called by Amelia Bones and scheduled for the day after tomorrow, when one of the strange silver instruments in his office started to flash and give off a shrill whistle. The instrument was connected to a new ward which had been added to those already existing after last year's fiasco with Tom's diary.

The aged headmaster walked over to the flashing contraption and tapped it with his wand. It released a big puff of white smoke, which instantly started to gain colours and contort into various shapes. The end result was a picture of the person who had dark magic residue on them – in this case it was his new History teacher.

When Dumbledore looked closer, he noticed that she looked dishevelled and exhausted, and that she held firmly onto a box covered with dust and cobwebs. He tapped a different place on his silver instrument. The picture was replaced by two sets of runes and arithmantic equations – two magical signatures converted into writing. One of them belonged to Irene McAdams, but the headmaster practically ignored it. His eyes were fixed on the other one, which was very familiar to him. There was a lot of differences, but still about quarter of the various runes and symbols were the same.

So the young miss had been playing with something that Tom left behind, or worse, his former student was back in Britain and Irene McAdams had chosen the bonds of blood over the principles of the Light. The young woman needed to be watched to find out if she could still be turned back on the straight path. Dumbledore waved his wand and called his patronus.

"Tell Severus that I want to talk to him. A situation similar to that with Quirell has arisen."

* * *

><p>As Dumbledore was instructing his Potions professor on what he wanted him to do and the professor in question was vehemently protesting and claiming that the best course of action would be to just let the Aurors haul his new colleague away, Irene eventually managed to drag herself to the infirmary. It seemed that her luck continued, because Poppy Pomfrey was just exiting her office and immediately noticed her. She rushed towards her and helped her to get to the nearest bed. Then she pulled out her wand to perform diagnostic spells.<p>

"Please, call the DMLE," Irene croaked.

"I will, don't worry. But first I need to take care of you. You know that you broke a record? Every time we had a new teacher, and we've had a _lot_ of those, that teacher ended up here, injured or ill. Some of them got here as early as the end of September, but none of them had managed to arrive here before the school even started. I hope you will not continue like this."

Irene didn't respond. The mediwitch's voice became just a background noise and the young History teacher finally succumbed to her exhaustion and fell asleep. Madame Pomfrey quietly finished her work, placed some monitoring spells on her new patient and moved towards the floo in her office. Starting a fire and throwing a pinch of floo powder into the flames, she called out:

"Ministry of Magic, the Auror office!"

Her floo call was immediately accepted by Kingsley Shacklebolt, who was on duty that day.

"Madame Pomfrey, what seems to be the trouble?"

"I suspect that one of the teachers had been attacked by some unsavoury character. She arrived dishevelled, scratched and bruised and there was a dark residue on her," said the mediwitch with a frown.

Shacklebolt listened attentively and after Poppy stopped talking, he stated:

"I'd like to come to Hogwarts to talk with Miss McAdams."

"You'll probably have to wait until tomorrow until she wakes. She was exhausted and fell asleep almost immediately."

"I understand. I'll see you tomorrow at ten o'clock," said the Auror.


End file.
